


open up your hands and let me see the things you keep in there

by littleblacksubmarine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Body Image, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Scars, Slapping, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-07-17 17:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16100483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblacksubmarine/pseuds/littleblacksubmarine
Summary: After the dust has settled, Will and Frederick find solace in academia, modest lunches, and each other.





	1. open up your hands and let me see the things you keep in there

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-divergent after the events of S2E7 - Yakimono.  
> Will contain elements of canon-typical violence and gore, though I'd imagine you're familiar with the Hannibal style of good times if you've made it this far.

It was less than ideal to pick up a teaching position at such a small Maryland university, Frederick thought through a slightly (all right, more than slightly) dismayed veil of defeat, particularly one where he'd been grilled about his knowledge of theory and practice in ways that made him feel that the world of academia - and perhaps the world at large - regarded him with a skepticism of the highest order since his failings with Abel Gideon that had literally taken more than he'd care to admit from him. In the back of his mind he knew that in another life, in another alternate timeline, he could've ruled the psychology department with an iron fist, if he were so inclined.

 In reality, he now found himself shabby and graying around the edges, scarred up by a world that had seemed keen to chew him up and spit him out humbler. The idea of direct practice daunted him - terrified him a little, if he was being honest - and he had a good enough memory to feel comfortable in academia. _Those who can't do, teach_ , he'd thought sneeringly all the way through medical school - what a fucking joke it seemed now.

 Frederick looked back at himself, all of his life until The Great Disruption, and regarded himself with an envious scrutiny, marveling over the way he'd worn arrogance as finery but still taken it for granted. Memories were a stubborn ache in him, nestled in the empty space that had been carved out in his gut, patched as good as could be expected to carry on the barest minimum of living.

 He wondered if he'd ever stop missing the taste of steak.

 After everything that had happened, after everything Abel Gideon and Hannibal Lecter and every other ill person in the continental United States had seemed so keen to strip everything from him, this was what he was left with in the dust: a too-small office that seemed to vacillate only between frigid or blisteringly hot, and a bland egg salad sandwich on white bread. Frederick poked at it with a disinterest he couldn't feign his way out of.

 He'd forced himself to avoid Tattlecrime lately, knowing that he'd risk finding headlines about himself nestled between the latest blood and guts blog-rag that Freddie Lounds had cooked up and self-congratulatory outsourced reviews of her new book about the true story of the Chesapeake Ripper. The mythic Frederick Chilton was hardly a tawdry subject in his own daily life, small and compartmentalized away from the big-picture bloodbath the past few years had brought him, but if anyone could tease out a frustratingly overblown portrait of him, it would be Freddie _fucking_ Lounds.

 Even so, the minutes of his two hour break between undergrad lectures felt grindingly slow, and Frederick pondered his dismal lunch for a few fleeting seconds before surfing away from the Amazon Prime deals he'd been trying to distract himself with and over to Tattlecrime.

 It felt grossly self-indulgent to type his own name into the tag search - even though he knew no one would be around to see, it still gnawed at the last kernels of pride he'd managed to cling onto. There were pictures of the blood-soaked spread of his kitchen the night he'd fled to Will Graham's, pleading for a shower and hoping to also scrub out the memory of the dead agents he'd found in his own happy hearth. At least he'd avoided those for a while now - the first time he'd stumbled across them - okay, or searched for them a glass and a half of wine in - he'd staggered to the bathroom just in time to vomit up his quinoa salad.

 Frederick blanched to find a picture of him covertly snapped looking frustrated with a microfiche machine approximately two weeks earlier when an ancient librarian had directed him to it to find an article he'd cited in his graduate thesis on antisocial personality disorder - now laughably dated, but still relevant, he'd hoped. It was buried under a dozen or so articles in the archive with varying degrees of splashed gore, emblazoned with the headline, _Throwback Thursday: Reclusive Psychiatrist Frederick Chilton Returns as Big Man on Campus_ , as though deliberately designed to humiliate him. His cheeks reddened.

 He was caught up for a long minute in worrying whether or not the tweed suit he'd dressed in for his ill-fated library run looked too pretentious before he directed his attention to the text of the article - a tawdry recap of every misfortune that had chased him out of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminal Insane and into the dismal cellar of a _public university_. If he were in the mood to assess himself accurately, Frederick could've safely determined he was comfortable wallowing in his own pity until he reached the last line of the article, underlined as an aggressively tantalizing hyperlink:

  _Dr. Chilton's retreat into the relative anonymity of academia comes as a timely mirror of the similar career trajectory of notorious patient-to-the-Ripper Will Graham, who similarly accepted a teaching position at the University to begin in the Fall semester - a collaborative effort? Only time may tell…_

 Frederick had taken approximately a bite and a half of egg salad but now wondered if he might double over face-first into the small wastepaper basket underneath his desk. He knew all of the color had drained from his face. Before he knew it, his fingers had itched of their own volition and pounded the cursor over the Will Graham clickbait.

 He'd successfully avoided all Will Graham coverage, even when there was overlap between the two of them in the media - Frederick was vain enough to have had a Google alert of his own name set for several weeks until he could no longer bear to see himself hobbling about on a cane in ill-composed candid shots, but if there was any mention of Will Graham in the title, he steered clear out of sheer self-preservation.

 Maybe it was in part due to Will Graham that he found himself here, picking at depressing homemade lunches, finding himself highlighted in salacious blog posts for not knowing how to handle technology he'd found cumbersome even as an undergrad, relegated to something of a public servant. There were already students who'd sauntered into his Tuesday morning lecture, stinking of last night's beer pong game, half asleep before they'd even sloppily initialed the class attendance roster.

 He'd been a man of esteem once. Maryland felt like the cruelest place in a wholly cruel world.

 The world only got crueler when Will Graham's face appeared on his screen, materializing in a slow crawl of pixels. Frederick could easily identify the cobblestones of the courtyard, maybe due to the long-haired kids playing hackeysack and protesting factory farming in the background, and Graham's face was stoically set as he made his way among the throng of carefree students with a messenger bag slung informally over one shoulder. He had glasses on.

 The article seemed to swim in front of Frederick's eyes, barely distinguishable in its details beyond the simple bare-bones facts that hit him square between those eyes: Will Graham was teaching too, maybe even mere yards from him.

 It nagged at him that he had kept Will Graham in a cage, poked at him for secrets he didn’t harbor. As his ability to maintain arrogance had subsided, his capacity for guilt seemed to surge in to fill the vacant spaces. There had been times in his life where he'd felt self-assured, not just by having fine suits and a car that would make mere mortals balk at its price tag, but also by having a reported wealth of knowledge that would make his subordinates crawl to please him, kiss his shoes, seek his favor. It was a heady sense of power he missed. Now he found himself missing that sense as it had left him, here and lowly and finding himself squirming under the memory of feeling _so right_ in his professional suspicions about Will Graham.

 Sometimes he wondered if psychiatry were founded on nothing more than the notion of _professional suspicions_ \- an inexact science that did little to comfort anyone who believed in anything of substance. In those small moments, Frederick found himself floundering under the notion that he'd devoted himself, his life, the physical pieces of him to something so fleeting and subjective.

 He wondered if the egg salad had warmed, but either way knowing he'd lost his appetite. He could be within mere meters of Will Graham right now without even knowing it, could've intersected paths with him as mere happenstance and thrown himself drastically off-kilter in the blink of an eye. Perhaps it was best to hide.

 - 

Frederick hoped he had been calculated enough in tracking the possibilities of Will Graham's whereabouts - searching his name in the course catalogs to find that he taught a few electives in the criminal justice department, scarcely enough to be considered a full-time faculty member, likely making a humble paycheck but with less papers to grade than Frederick himself. He pored over the university intranet, spending an obsessively considerable amount of time calculating what Will's movements might be in order to take pains to avoid him on campus.

 His own apartment was back in Baltimore, about an hour away, moderately sized but scarcely decorated, not homely in the least. Freddie Lounds had been uncharacteristically merciful in omitting the details of where he lived, a thought which he tried to turn over and over in his head as a positive when he awoke in the night, soaked with sweat and gasping for breath, expecting a monster to be standing over him in bed. Similarly, he had no idea where Will Graham lived these days, but suspected he was still crouched in the brush in his modest, rural home with approximately six thousand and two dogs.

 After a particularly long abnormal psychology lecture to a group of spirited underclassmen who considered themselves experts in psychosis after seeing A Beautiful Mind on Netflix a time and a half, Frederick excused himself to the student union. The cafeteria there had a tolerable vegan chili option, all beans and tomato and no semblance of anything meaty that might leave him violently cramped and ill in advance of his research methods lecture at two o'clock.

 At noon on a Tuesday, the student union was a Safe, Will Graham Free Zone, or at least it would be indicated as such if Frederick were anal enough to keep a running timetable of places it would be safe for him to be in public at all hours. It was not without trial and error.

 On a Wednesday morning the previous week, he'd seen a curly mop of hair at the front of the line at the artisan coffee stand in the entryway of the library as soon as he'd joined the line to try a soy latte, and had then fled to his own office with only herbal tea from the faculty lounge to try to support him through a day drained of energy. Once he'd gone to the university bookstore to pick up a few extra scantron sheets for students who may have forgotten them before coming to his first exam - he could be nice, _god damn it_ \- and seen what he thought was a studious man in a flannel shirt and hid behind a pillar until he was safely out of the shop.

 Frederick hummed a sparse handful of solemn notes to himself as he ladled out a few scoops of the decently priced vegan chili into a small cup, fastening a lid on top and balancing it on his plastic tray. It reminded him of middle school - a time when other boys had teased him for being bookish and proper, even fussy. Here he was as an adult - bookish and fussy all over again, with a scar on his cheek and down the expanse of his gut to rule out the _properness_ of everything they'd thought of him.

  Maybe he could count it as a victory, to be the opposite of what sneering bullies had expected of him.

 Once he'd paid the cashier the few dollars the chili would cost him with a faculty ID, he'd begun to head straight for the door on the side of the student union that faced his shoebox-sized office when he stopped dead in his tracks.

 Will Graham sat at one of the two seat tables in the corner of the dining area, eyes trained on a sandwich it seemed he'd packed for himself but had barely touched. Frederick felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach and subsequently had his scar split open. He wondered if the color had left his face. Will had a styrofoam cup of coffee sat next to him, clearly filled from a battered red plaid thermos that sat beside his mostly-intact sandwich.

 Frederick found himself floundering immediately, feeling pinned like an butterfly on a science fair project board. If he were a man of any kind of logical sense these days, he might flee.

 For a moment he hovered, teetering on the balls of both feet but somehow unable to move, but he soon found a little motion and went to turn, to make a beeline for any other door than the one next to Will Graham that would lead him most directly to his office, but the moment was but a mere split second as he turned on his heel and took half a step.

 "Dr. Chilton," he heard, and the statement of his name was like a shot in the air, one that had hit him. The voice was soft, even, and immediately recognizable to him.

 In addition to being spotted to begin with, Frederick thought it was also abundantly obvious that he'd been trying to run off without being noticed, and the idea of being caught red-handed in cowardice was especially embarrassing. Each time he thought he'd reached the absolute bottom of his station, he seemed to inch even further south of where he'd started out - a man to be respected and feared by his staff in equal measures now cowering like an animal.

 He took a pained breath, setting his countenance into a composed line before turning on his heel to face Will, whether he was ready to or not. He feigned a surprised look of recognition.

 "Will," he said, failing to think ahead before speaking and blurting out in a voice that didn't know if it wanted to be warm or standoffish and instead came out garbled and unconfident. He cringed inwardly. He hoped Will couldn't see the way he was bracing himself by clutching the handle of the paper bag the union cashier had insisted on putting the cup of chili in so he could take it with him back to his office. Jesus Christ, his office sounded so comforting and so, so far away right now. "What are you doing here?"

 "Teaching," Will said simply - frustratingly so, actually. "I'd assumed you knew that," he added, regarding Frederick with an expression he couldn't decipher, though not an unfriendly one.

 Frederick wasn't sure how to respond but shifted into an instinctive effort to appear nonplussed. "Right, I think I may have heard a rumor about that." Will gave him what he'd call half of a smile, clearly skeptical now, and gave a slow, demonstrative nod.

 As much as he'd like to escape the awkward situation, he still found himself drawn to the table when Will invited him to sit. It quietly baffled him as he sat, wondering why Will would even want to be near him after what had happened in all that time in the cage, all the time that he'd prodded Will for information about his psyche, plumbing him for a story that was not his to tell. Frederick also felt even smaller when he thought about how he'd crawled on his belly down to Wolf Trap, soaked in blood that wasn't his and begging as evenly as could be managed for space in Will Graham's shower.

 It felt like a hundred years ago, but still stung.

 When he was settled in the less-than-comfortable plastic chair across the table, he gave himself brief permission to study Will's face. The features of his face were still well-composed, somehow boyish and exhausted all at once. As Frederick was closer, he could see lines in his face that couldn't simply described as _fine_ , and would instead be described more as _deep_ , more like creases. His eyes were blue and tired, obscured by glasses Frederick wondered if he'd taken to wearing as some kind of attempt at a disguise.

 Frederick knew he could also be described as _tired_ , if the person doing the description were being generous. He certainly was tired, certainly worn down around the edges and clinging to any semblance of dignity he could show the rest of the world. He was disfigured, certainly, though it had healed enough to look less violent to those who were ignorant of the particulars of the injury, and he still hobbled with his cane at times. Frederick now pushed himself on campus to walk without the cane as much as he could bear, balking at the thought of looking like the stereotype of doddering, weak professor, one who could be manipulated into sympathy about late papers or talking too loudly in the back row of his lecture. As a result, he often collapsed in pain when he finally made it home in the evenings - pushed too hard by his pride, what a surprise.

 "First semester?" Will asked, his attention more on the coffee than the sandwich - tuna salad, probably a safe bet. He now noticed there was a small smattering of plain potato chips layered between the bread and atop the shredded lettuce and tuna salad. It reminded him of someone else's childhood, both comforting and saddening to know that the world had allowed one scrap of innocence to remain within Will Graham despite the ravages of his adulthood, leaving him haunted.

 Fishing the container of chili and a couple of packages of cheap saltine crackers out of the bag, Frederick nodded. "I thought it might be a refreshing change of pace to return to academia," he said, which was admittedly a half-truth. He'd found his way back to teaching and academia because it was a place he knew might have him, or maybe deep down he'd never trust himself to be near a patient again. He supposed both ideas weren't mutually exclusive. "And what about you?"

 Will gave a half hearted shrug and finally seemed to muster up the will to take a bite of his attention-starved sandwich. The crunch of the potato chips seemed deafening for a moment, distracting him from the din of one of the sororities asking for donations for Big Brothers Big Sisters across the street from the student union's ever-popular Taco Bell.

 "At this point, I don't want much to do with the FBI," he said, sounding frustratingly casual in a way that Frederick envied as Will offered up the understatement of the year. "I didn't want to have to move away in order to do something interesting, or at least tolerable." So there it was - Frederick was probably safe in assuming Will was indeed still at home in Wolf Trap, bunkered down with a drove of canines he'd always prefer to actual human contact.

 The idea did seem at least somewhat similar to what had drawn Frederick to the small, unassuming campus, though it seemed oppressively so once he'd arrived, and he felt a strange sense of comfort that he wasn't the only one looking for a place to hide for a while. No one said this was permanent, he reminded himself, although it had been at times nice to get home from work at a reasonable hour.

 He wasn't sure what he'd expected from sitting down at a table with Will Graham, wondered if he'd find himself spilling out apologies for his professional indiscretions and false assumptions, or if he'd find Will sneering and shouting at him, reducing him to shreds right there in front of all the Sigma Kappas and their goddamn fundraiser. Nothing of the sort had happened so far, though he inwardly shuddered as he wondered if the ghost of Hannibal Lecter was settled at the table between them, scoffing at Will's childish sandwich and Frederick's half-heartedly executed chili.

 Frederick cleared his throat. "I haven't had much to do with undergraduate studies in a long, long time - maybe since I was one of them," he said, mustering up a small, pinched smile. "I've heard your lectures were very popular," he added, trying to be complimentary for reasons he couldn't explain.

 Maybe Will had sought out a familiar face for lunch, though Frederick suspected that all of the well-concealed carnage of his meals with Hannibal Lecter had left Will with a desire to isolate during his meals, and to take pains to make sure everything he put in his mouth to chew was something he'd had constant oversight of in the preparation process. He wondered if any of Lecter's dinner guests ever went to restaurants anymore - he certainly counted himself lucky that he abstained from meat when he considered the idea of allowing someone else the power of something as simple as cooking a meal for him. It was funny what the world took from people.

 Will returned his smile, perhaps much to his surprise. He found himself feeling minimally deserving of smiles most days, if at all. "I was known for attracting a great deal of morbid curiosity, " he said, and the statement carried with it a degree of truth that made Frederick squirm, remembering the way that horrors seemed overly familiar and walked-through within Will's curious, frightening mind. "It's nice to give a watered down version of that to people who probably won't end up trying to sniff out serial killers every day of the week for the next thirty years of a career."

 It certainly was nice to shift gears, to hopefully give people a small taste of curiosity to dive deeper into their respective disciplines if they were so inclined. The rest of it was commonplace and comfortingly monotonous - teaching lacrosse players named Chad about the ins and outs of the DSM V, possibly only to be forgotten and never to return after several rounds of flip cup in the athletic dorms. The head of his department had told him right off the bat that he would easily be on track to teach at the graduate level next year when one of the borderline elderly faculty members would finally take the hint and retire, though he certainly wasn’t in a hurry to jump in.

 "It's certainly a little less taxing," Frederick said, and now it was his turn to offer almost condescending understatements. Will's smile hadn't faltered, and Frederick couldn't remember if he'd ever seen him smile. If he had, it wasn't more than a few seconds. The evaporation of the inflammation of his brain had maybe done him some good, though Frederick wondered if it was safe to assume that he wasn't the only one who sometimes woke up sweating and thrashing in the middle of the night, looking down frantically to make sure he hadn't spilled open again somehow during the night.

 They sat in a surprisingly amenable silence for a few moments, and Will appeared more relaxed in eating now, a renewed interest in giving his body a bit of sustenance for the time being.

 "I didn't expect to see a familiar face here," Will said, blotting mayonnaise out of the corner of his mouth with a thin, cheap napkin.

 "Perhaps you didn't want to," Frederick suggested, hoping as soon as the words left his mouth that they wouldn't land as unkind. The last thing he needed was to give Will another reason to be perturbed with him, one that might finally push him over the edge into an outward expression of rage. "Likely mine least of all."

 Will didn't appear fazed in the slightest, taking a sip of his coffee, black and still steaming. "Trust me, Dr. Chilton - there are people I'd be far less happy to see than you," he said mildly, and Frederick was grateful for the clarification. He toyed with the idea that Will had found something to help him practice radical acceptance - meditation? Yoga? Prescribed or illicit marijuana? "You aren't one I lose sleep thinking back on."

 His sandwich seemed to have evaporated in front of him, though it had now been Frederick's turn to pick at his food, dismayed to find that the cafeteria staff had added sweet potatoes to the mix since the last time he'd had it - he'd never warmed up to them despite his best efforts. Will checked his watch and raised one eyebrow, grimacing when he registered the time it displayed.

 "I have to get to class," he said, brushing stray potato chip crumbs off the front of his casual gray sweater as he rose to his feet with little regard for the way they fell to the floor for someone on a smaller paycheck to sweep up. If there was anyone on earth well-suited for the role of absentminded professor, it might be Will. "Same time tomorrow?"

 The request surprised him, almost as much as his own agreement surprised him. It might be a welcome reprieve from the perpetually broken and temperamental thermostat in his office no matter how many increasingly irritable work orders he'd submitted since the first week he'd set foot inside. It certainly wouldn't hurt to have a conversation with another adult beyond his drycleaner for once.

 -

For several weeks, Frederick had observed the small, modest meals Will brought for himself: spaghetti topped with Ragu sauce and powdered Parmesan cheese, cheese sticks, fruit and crackers, and peanut butter and jelly - so, so much peanut butter and jelly. He wondered about the last time Will had eaten something that a five year old wouldn't, and finally delicately brought it up to him when the last straw had come in the form of Will heating up a small container of microwaveable macaroni and cheese - radioactively yellow-orange once the powder and water had been mixed in.

 The smile Will gave him was both knowing and sheepish. "As you recall, we've both had bad experiences with gourmet," he said delicately, leaning in slightly conspiratorially. A perky, petite blonde member of the sociology department's honors fraternity swept up to their table and handed them both a flier about an upcoming coed car wash with a knowing smile. "Thank you," Will told her, setting it down beside his kid's menu offering. Frederick assumed he'd bring Ramen noodles next time. The girl was gone as soon as she'd come, and Frederick nodded at Will's earlier statement.

 "I've gotten particular myself about eating things I don't prepare myself," he admitted, picking at the vegetarian spring rolls he'd picked up from Trader Joe's the day before. "I doubt and hope that Trader Joe is trying feed me his nemeses," he added, trying to make a feeble attempt at a joke. It landed clumsily.

 Will's look was humorless but not angry, and he stirred the macaroni and cheese a final time before taking a bite, wincing only a little at the fact that it was still hot from where he'd microwaved it in the student union. There was a faculty lounge for each department, but the psychology department's made Frederick feel claustrophobic and under a microscope that made his guilt bubble even closer to the surface than normal. Frederick had entertained the idea that Will now put a high premium of hiding in plain sight these days before chasing the thought away. The second time they'd eaten together, he'd vowed to take great pains never to analyze or assess Will again.

 They didn't eat together every day, particularly on days where Will didn't teach. Frederick taught almost every day and held office hours on days he didn’t teach - it wasn't entirely unwelcome to talk to someone struggling with the differences between personality disorders and mood disorders or pondering the overlap between, to give grace to particularly mousy art students who'd only taken his introductory psychology course to fulfill their general education requirements until they could paint squirrels in the quad freely, to help the Tylers and Jeremys from Delta and Theta Chis sort through the massacre of red pen he'd unleashed on their research methods papers.  

 The semester was two months in and the weather was beginning to chill, the light to grow dim early, and Frederick dreaded the days where the cold would start to seep in. He felt more pain physically during these times, but the constant frigidity and darkness did little to help his fears. The previous winter he'd laid in bed for weeks at a time, drawing on his savings to avoid scrambling to find a new job. He'd sold the Jaguar and his house, content to shrug off some of his extravagances out of self preservation - like cutting off a limb to escape peril.

 Frederick cleared his throat, trying to appear casual while secretly wondering if he'd made a statement trivial enough to offend his lunch partner. But Will was looking over his shoulder, well past tables of students planning keggers and frantically cramming for chemistry exams they'd probably fail.

 A student in jogging pants and a university t-shirt with a drawstring backpack slung over one of his shoulders was pointing an iPhone in their direction. Frederick recognized him as an intramural rugby student who'd sent him an email telling him he had to drop his class because he was pledging and was only allowed to take so many hours per semester. He'd rolled his eyes at the time and rolled them again now.

 "She sends them, you know," Will said conversationally, still staring at the kid who knew he'd been caught and stuffed his phone down in his pants pocket out of guilt.

 "Hmm?" Frederick asked, taking a messy bite of his spring rolls and offering an irritated grunt when half of the cabbage toppled down onto the plate. He hated nothing more than a mess.

 "Freddie," Will told him. The student had practically scampered out the door, knowing he'd been spotted prying. "She finds students looking for a buck and has them look out for us on campus."

 Frederick's head snapped up, turning his attention to Will and leaving the rubble of contents of the spring roll to sit forgotten in a heap on his plate. He suddenly found himself feeling quite nauseated, having tried to block the post about his incompetence with the microfiche machine out of his head, with a surprising amount of success. It had been important to him to keep the thought from his mind, to try and comfort himself with the thought that Hannibal Lecter probably couldn't very well read Tattlecrime from prison to determine his whereabouts, but did little to help the terror he found himself awakening with most nights during the week.

 "How do you know that?" he asked, wishing he could feel incredulous about the idea. "You don't read that trash." And it was true, according to Will - Will, who had more self-discipline in the matter in spades than Frederick could ever claim for himself.

 It almost seemed old news to Will, and his voice was low, eyes downcast at his small cup of fake cheese and carbohydrates. It appeared to trouble him. "One of my students took an impressive amount of notes and asked if she could record a lecture once - I caught her browsing the blog in the front row of class. She confessed to it pretty quickly after I suggested mentioning it to the dean."

 "Bold, but not particularly smart," Frederick mused, taking a small morsel of delight in the idea that unassuming Will Graham could put the fear of god - or at least of the wrath of a student code of conduct - into a simpering undergrad.

 Will made a quiet noise of agreement, setting his fork down.

 "I - we could eat in my office next time," Frederick offered, hoping that this wouldn't be the end of having lunch with Will. Though he'd never admit it outwardly, he'd found himself growing accustomed to the idea of sharing space and a meal with Will and not worrying about whether or not it would end in one of them getting shot in the face, or locked away in a forensic hospital, or _eating another fucking human being_. Truthfully, it was refreshing to eat with _anyone_ in that manner, and he found himself pleasantly surprised that Will was somehow the one to give him that.

 For a moment, Will studied him, and he thought fitfully that he may have misread the situation - what a surprised - or overstepped the bounds of the lunchroom-only code they seemed to have developed without verbal negotiation.

 "You hate your office," Will said slowly. And it was true - it was currently a sauna and had been for weeks, with a musty smell that didn't seem to fade even after the administrative assistant had forced an essential oil diffuser on him which she claimed could cure any ailment, probably even cancer, and most certainly an unpleasant odor. He'd been complaining about it over lunch for even longer. "If it's as miserable as you say, mine is less terrible. We can eat there."

  Frederick nodded, satisfied by the resolution.

 After lunch, he'd headed back to his office, though not without dread, and shut and locked the door behind him, opening his laptop with the guilty feeling of a child snooping in a closet for Christmas presents in mid-November. He quickly pecked out the URL for Tattlecrime, having refrained from doing so since the first time months ago. A few posts down - _Jesus Christ, Freddie moved fast_ \- there was already a post about today's student union incident. The headline read, _A Working Lunch: Will Graham and Dr. Frederick Chilton Share a Bite_.

 The picture was mostly of the back of his head and Will's face across the table from him - looking perpetually somber and haunted, though Frederick knew firsthand that while he didn't look quite that dour in person, there was always an air of fatigue and distress behind those eyes, even when he smiled. Sometimes it made the part of Frederick that he'd carefully boxed in and away from others to maintain an air of stern professionalism wince, to feel a pang of empathy, knowing that same look might be observable in him too.

 For his own part, Frederick sighed in relief that his face was obscured, the gnarled, still discolored scar on his cheek on splashed on display for half the nosy true crime world to marvel and gossip over. He'd made the mistake of reading the comments on a post about himself the first time he'd gone in public after his last surgery - weeks later - _I thought Frankenstein was the monster, not the doctor_ some dickhead named GeinFan420 had posted snidely to many LMAOs and upvotes. He'd slammed the laptop shut and poured himself a glass of wine with an appetizer of Xanax.

 He was blessedly able to navigate away before reading the article, afraid any of Freddie Lounds' speculation on the nature of their meeting for lunch would taint it in his mind. It comforted him to imagine that Will never Googled his own name, to know at least someone was good at avoidance, for worse or for better.

 -

The change in lunchtime environment had been welcome and had taken some of the edge off of being ratted out to the world for having an amenable relationship with his former patient and current colleague. Frederick had first wrinkled his nose at the fact that Will's office was slightly larger than his, with noticeably nicer furniture, despite the fact that Frederick was forced to slave in his own smaller quarters more days per week. At least the temperature was more comfortable.

 He noticed that Will locked the door each time they ate lunch, an indication that an understandable shroud on anxiety still hovered over both of them, and it made Frederick feel less alone.

 Will had caught a particularly large fish, he was telling Frederick, and Frederick had learned early on that it was best to nod politely with feigned interest even though the idea of standing in waders trying not to freeze to death was wildly unappealing. He would never say the idea of the outdoors repulsed him - he'd been known to enjoy a merlot or two on a nice shaded patio on a special occasion, for Christ's sake - but the idea of coming home smelling like a creek certainly did.

 His mind had wandered to ideas of how he'd like to torture his psychopathology students on their midterm, vignettes he could give that would make the diagnosis almost impossibly difficult for students who'd been browsing Instagram and looking at Snapchats - whatever that was - of concerts their friends had been to the night before instead of paying attention in class. His attention was suddenly called back when he heard a cleared throat and an apology coming from Will from across his desk -

 " - that was thoughtless, excuse me," Will was saying, eyes looking down at his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chicken noodle soup, poured from his Thermos.

 "Beg your pardon?" Frederick asked, ashamed of caught with his own attention diverted without some stupid social media app to distract him - at least his students had an excuse.

 Will rested his forehead on his hand, running two fingers quickly through the hair at the front of his head. "I had mentioned making you fish sometime; I forgot about the meat thing," he said. "Sorry about that."

 Frederick waved a dismissive hand. "No offense taken," he said, quietly impressed that Will was the apologetic sort. He wondered if Will had been used to apologizing since early on in life, more so now that he'd perceived himself as being complicit in the cause of suffering to others. "I'm sure it'd be good though, if your elegant sandwiches are anything to go by." The sneer and sarcasm of the old Frederick Chilton were gone for once, and he found himself baffled by it. Sometimes he wondered if Frederick Chilton had died and he hadn't gotten the memo, left behind in his body but wandering the earth as someone else.

 "I make other things too," Will told him, as though in his own defense. "Once in a while," he tacked on, trying to be honest about the fact that applying various spreads to pieces of bread was most of his wheelhouse these days. He cleared his throat. "It's a ways away from you, I know, but if you ever wanted to, you'd be welcome to come out and join me for dinner sometime."

 It had been a long time since anyone had invited him to dinner, and longer still since the idea of sharing a nighttime meal with someone else didn't make him feel sick to his stomach with bad memories. He found himself floundering under the idea, immediate panic making him want to come up with an excuse, something about being terribly sorry and terribly busy.

 Frederick spent most of his nights - weeknight and weekend - watching buzzing, abrasively laugh-tracked sitcoms and reality shows, unable to stomach anything with any shred of realistic violence except housewives pulling at each other's hair. He was a man afraid now, and he often fell asleep on his sofa in his bathrobe, empty wine glass sitting on the coffee table or tipped onto its side on the floor. It made his back hurt to wake up like this, but it comforted him to spend some nights sleeping on the couch with the television up and every light in the apartment on. He scowled at his own skittishness.

 "That would be nice, I suppose," Frederick said after a pause that probably felt longer than it actually was, trying for casualness but perhaps accidentally upsetting the balance with a greater degree of earnestness.

 Will regarded him with a lopsided smile that was temporarily disarming, seeing the way that Will bit his lip for a split second, and he cringed at himself to find the smile bringing a pleasant heat to his insides. It was certainly unexpected, suddenly new and barreling through him.

 "You could come Saturday, if you'd like," Will was continuing, tearing the crust off of one half of his sandwich. He cut his sandwiches into blunt, rectangular halves instead of triangles, like an actual barbarian. "If you don't have other plans, that is."

 The idea of having other plans of note made him give a mirthless chuckle - neither of them had bustling social lives, if any at all. Frederick's sister - Angela, in Phoenix, who worried about him but not enough to visit - called him every couple of weeks to check in and was the majority of his company, though he hesitated to admit it to Will. He'd been invited to the psychology department's Halloween mixer in a few weeks and the notion made him so anxious he'd shoved the garishly orange invitation in the bottom of a drawer he'd stuffed with faculty orientation materials he hadn't needed in the first place.

 "I suppose I could manage," he said, as though he'd had to consider the contents of his sparse-if-not-empty calendar. Will gave a brief nod and turned his attention toward his soup, as though almost impressed with his own audacity to invite another person to his house. Frederick supposed it had been a long time, and wondered if he'd added another half dozen dogs to his roster since Frederick had shown up and intruded the last time. It felt as though it had been eons, and the idea of returning suddenly made him feel ill, but it was too late to back out now.

 He would manage somehow, even if Xanax was not likely to pair exceptionally with the modest dinner menu.

 -

_He was being hunted, chased through the woods, hearing the rattle of a bag of scalpels behind him all the while. He hadn't run in years, maybe since the ill-fated time he'd tried racquetball with a colleague, and running was exceptionally difficult in wingtip shoes, without his cane but certainly with a pain in his gut that seared hotter and hotter with each clumsy, pounding footstep over cold soil and slick leaves, knocking him perpetually off balance until he finally slipped, tumbling over the mist-soaked leaves and a previously unnoticed root -_

_he was head over heels in the mud, smearing across his dress shirt and favorite suitcoat, cane nowhere to be found, all light gone but the predator in the woods certainly identifiable, back to get the pound of flesh he had spared the first time but now come to claim from him in a weeping, spurting fountain of blood and sliced tissue, leaving him to bleed out and die on the forest floor - a hand was around his throat and he was screaming, screaming until his breath caught in his throat when nothing was left in his lungs and his eyes swam -_

 Frederick awakened with a garbled shout, sitting up halfway in bed with his plain white pajama shirt soaked in perspiration, face red and cheeks drenched with fat, hot tears. His belly ached as though the pain of his dream had been real, and he could hear desperate, sobbing breaths escaping him in a way that made him grudgingly pity himself. He slumped back against his pillows, sodden with his own sweat and tears, blankets kicked uselessly down around his feet.

 He rolled over onto his side, eyes blearily meeting the red digits of the bedside clock. Half past two o'clock in the morning, much of the night still remaining. Frederick tried to slow his breath, tried not to think about how difficult it always seemed to be to fall back asleep after a nightmare like this. His hands were trembling, and he groped on the nightstand for a tepid glass of water he kept there for nights were he found himself hoarse from screaming out in his sleep. He hoped again that the walls of his apartment were thick enough to preserve what little was left of his dignity these days.

 Once his breath had slowed to only a slight acceleration, he closed his eyes and tried to relax, tried to steady himself in the present, though the grounding techniques he'd tried to force himself to learn never seemed to quiet his mind enough at night. Frederick tightened his grip in the sheets, trying to will himself to remain calm, trying to slow the involuntarily tremors that overwhelmed him.

 Frederick laid, spread out on his back with the covers pulled back over him, blinking at the ceiling for twenty minutes that felt like two days, racking his brain on other ways to ease himself back into sleep. He briefly considered another glass of wine with some medication - he had a medicine cabinet full, if he wanted to take his pick tonight - but remembered with frustration that he had his eight o'clock Friday morning lecture. He huffed in frustration and clenched his eyes shut, trying to count slowly back from one hundred.

 He made it to forty two before snapping his eyes open again. By now, he'd almost given up all hope, except -

 Frederick shifted his hips, trying to settle into the mattress. He took a deep breath in through his nose, resting a hand on his belly, avoiding the spot where he knew the scar cut him in two with an ugliness he fought to ignore every day. He was still soaked in sweat, though it had cooled and left him chilly even under the blankets. He let the deep breath go and reached down, brushing a fingertip against the front of his pajama pants.

 His sex drive had dwindled down to almost nothing these days, and he wondered if that had been cut out from him too as one more thing to humble him, but tonight he found himself desperate for any kind of relief, anything that would make him fall asleep. It had been months since he'd even entertained the idea of touching himself, admittedly repulsed by his own body and the idea of taking pleasure from it. It had been over a year - all right, over two years - since anyone else had touched him, since he'd been too distracted by the prestige of his work and then the crumble of it to even let anyone close enough to try to wring it out of him.

 Now, he found himself stirring with slight interest, already half-hard from the blood circulation of sleep, but clearly wilted some from his nightmare. He stroked his cock through his pajama pants with two tentative fingers, as though dredging up the gusto to venture further with himself. He then grazed further back, across his balls, sighing a little at the stimulation - not enough through the barrier of cloth.

 Frederick cupped himself in one hand, steadying as the nightmare had faded, but still apprehensive. He rubbed his cock through his pajamas now, using his whole hand but still moving slowly as if to get himself used to the since-forgotten sensation. He sighed softly, enjoying the way it felt to enter the beginning stages of working himself up. He allowed his mind to wander as he allowed himself the mercy to slide his hand down the front of his pants to brush against bare skin, and he let out a longer, deeper sigh.

 He stroked down the shaft with a few fingers before growing bolder, curling his palm and fingers around his cock, indulging in a few long, slow strokes, bringing himself to fuller and fuller hardness. He thought about the soft curves of women he'd been with in the unfortunately distant past, breasts pressed against his bare chest, wetness between their legs grinding against his thigh, gasping, parted lips brushing against his ear as he moved inside them.

 His thoughts were running away from him, back into the further-hidden recesses of his mind that he tried to put away and avoid unpacking, like the time he'd found himself in the bathroom of a wine bar after a late happy hour with some of his colleagues, lips mashed against that of a young man he'd met at the bar, their hands down each other's pants. The young man had gotten down on his knees, taking Frederick into his mouth and to the back of his throat in a swift motion that Frederick had marveled at. He'd never had another man touch him, let alone get down on their knees for him, and he'd stored the secret, quietly almost-shameful memory in the back of his mind to be brought out for a proverbial rainy day such as this.

 This particular memory never failed to wring a sharp, desperate gasp from him, never failed to make him tighten and speed up his strokes, and tonight was no exception. He scrunched his eyes shut, angling his hips upward, and then his mind was running even farther and faster away from him -

  _Will_ on his knees here in front of him; _Will_ with Frederick's cock in his mouth, blue eyes half-lidded with pupils impossibly blown wide, staring up at him through his lashes, almost reverently, almost as though he were still someone deserving of respect -

 Frederick gasped, eyes flying open, almost taken out of the moment but realizing he was pumping his cock now in earnest, thrusting his hips up into his grip and feeling unrelenting heat bursting in his groin, spilling down to his toes, and guilt raced through him at the sheer, intrusive vulgarity of his imagination, suddenly feeling invasive but unable to stop his hand from moving. He was panting openly, a more satisfying way to lose his breath now.

 " _Fuck_ ," he gritted out, biting into the knuckles of his free hand, so unbelievably close and hot now beneath the omnipotent, staggering press of the comforter he wanted nothing more than to kick away but couldn't distract himself from ripping pleasure out of himself enough to do so at the moment. His mind raced, wondering if Will's knees would bruise easily, wondering what his cock looked like, if it might strain against his jeans if he were to get his mouth around Frederick, wondering how his skin might feel.

 He wondered if Will would bite his lip as Frederick allowed his fingers to brush against Will's cock, barely dipping beneath the waistband of his underpants.

 It was too much for him, and he let out a sputtering, taken aback cry, coming so hard his vision swam when he opened his eyes again. His fist, the comforter, and his pajamas were hopelessly soiled with come, and he collapsed against the mattress, boneless and shamefully satisfied with the exercise.

 Frederick wiped his hand on the underside of the comforter, tucking himself back into his pajama pants, suddenly disgusted with the mess he'd made but so overwhelmingly tired he could scarcely keep his eyes open, let alone change his sheets, change his clothes, rinse off in the shower. He felt selfishly glad that he'd managed to lull himself into calmness enough to sleep again, but a half-sense of regret was heavy in his stomach, and he wondered if he'd be able to look Will and his stupid fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the face ever again.

 -

Frederick spent the entire drive from Baltimore to Wolf Trap with sweaty palms, unsure how the night would unfold. Will didn't typically teach on Fridays, and hadn't indulged his students by coming in for office hours that day. Sometimes Frederick imagined that Will would immediately shut off the projector and snap on the lights at the end of his lectures, fleeing abruptly to his office to avoid speaking to any students regardless of their curiosity or comprehension. He imagined little had changed in the way of Will's social graces, even though their lunches seemed to be the exception.

 He'd found himself worrisome and guilt-ridden over the events of Thursday night, despite the fact that he'd slept like a dead body - pardon the expression - for the remainder of the night. He supposed he should be thanking either himself or Will from the gift - it was the first time he'd awoken rested in months without the aid of a strong sleep aid, and with none of the accompanying hangover feeling that made him not want to take the liberally given prescriptions.

 Before he left Baltimore he'd picked up a large bottle of beer for Will, some type of ambitiously alcoholic barrel aged something-or-other he expected Will might like, though he had little interest in sampling it himself. Frederick used to enjoy scotch, back in his other life, back when he was fuller of intestine and lighter on panic, but now it didn't agree with him. Will had assured him he didn't need to bring anything else.

 When  he arrived, Will was dressed in a threadbare flannel shirt and jeans that looked well-loved but still fit him well. His shoes were missing, only clad in thick socks that looked like they were made of wool but not itchy enough to bother. There was a small, swirling herd of dogs who greeted him at the door as well, some of them barking, some of them jumping, all of them agitating his slight allergies immediately.

 "Glad you found me," he said, and Frederick sensed knowingly that it was out of politeness, both of them knowing Frederick had found the house once in a sense of panic and a slick-but-drying coating of blood. He felt himself shudder to remember it, hoping the feeling of dread would lessen when he had something to drink.

 "Of course," he said, entering the house as Will stood aside and shooed some of the dogs, though they didn't all comply and sniffed at him with interest. Will took his jacket and draped it unceremoniously over the back of the couch, where Frederick assumed it'd be caked in dog hair within minutes. "Thank you for having me."

 Will had a hesitant look on his face when Frederick stood expectantly in the living room, but turned to escort him to the kitchen. He had conceded defeat and brought his cane along with him, taking comfort in the fact that he knew that Will was more than aware he had and used it whenever possible and not dreading of scrutiny. When he got to the kitchen, the table there was set with two places - vaguely chipped dinner plates with a paper towel laid on each as a napkin. It was quaint, and Frederick smiled appreciatively.

 "I didn't know what to make, so I made lasagna and green beans," he said quietly, wiping his already dry hands on his pants, suddenly looking nervous. "Four cheese, not frozen," he added, as though knowing the question was probably on the tip of his tongue. Frederick smiled, happy for the foresight.

 "Good," Frederick said, offering the large brown bottle of beer as though it were his own majestic contribution to the meal.

 For his part, Will reached into one of the cabinets and fished out a similarly sized green bottle of red wine. "I didn't know what kind you liked, so I asked for something very dry and snobby," he said, voice light despite the rudeness of the statement.

 "I suppose I'm that predictable?" Frederick asked, surveying the label on the bottle with appreciation. Will was removing the lasagna from the oven, stooping low to assess the browning of the cheese on top before fully pulling it out. "Thank you, you've actually done a good job choosing."

 Will made a dismissive noise. "The liquor store guy did a good job choosing," he clarified quietly, unwilling to accept any undue credit. They waited in an amenable silence for the lasagna to cool, and Will opened both of the bottles, pouring them each a glass of their respective poisons. He made a vague _cheers_ gesture, taking a large gulp of the beer. It fascinated Frederick momentarily to watch Will drink, knowing there were often times he came to campus looking worse for the wear and complaining of little sleep and a persistent headache, and these times made more sense to him now. There were plenty of vices in the world for people like the two of them to choose from.

 They settled at the table after letting the lasagna cool, sipping at their drinks and making light, disapproving conversation about the university's new parking permit policy. It was deceptively easy, and Frederick slightly resented the idea that there was an open secret under the surface here. He found himself so very tired most days of pretending nothing had happened to him, that nothing blood-soaked found him in the night, or when he closed his eyes for a second too long during a free moment of the day.

 The lasagna remained too molten-hot to be touched until after Will had poured them each a second drink, a slab of it sitting on each of their plates with light plumes of steam still rising from them. Frederick was beginning the feel a pleasant heat in his belly, and worried briefly over the fact that'd he'd ambitiously driven out to Wolf Trap knowing wine and a dense stomach full of carbs awaited him in the first place.

 As Frederick took his first bite of the now mercifully cooled lasagna, Will surveyed his reaction with rapt attention. The meal was surprisingly good for a man who ate like a fifth grader on a field trip most days, and Frederick offered what he hoped came off as a genuine smile. "Tastes good," he said, blotting at his mouth with a napkin, turning his attention next to the green beans.

 "I used sauce from a jar," Will confessed, as though feeling a slight twinge of guilt he couldn't suppress in time. "It wasn't on sale, though."

 Frederick gave a surprised, sputtering chuckle. "My compliments to the chef, then, whoever he may be."

 "Could be a she," Will pointed out, taking another long drink from the beer, licking the foamy residue of the head from his lips. A sinful flash of Frederick's fantasizing barreled back into his head for a moment, making him swallow a lump in his throat, thankfully disguised by the undignified way he gulped at his wine to match Will's pace.

 Although any of the warmth of the past season was rapidly dissipating, there was still a mild buzz of the last few dying cicadas outside, and Frederick listened to their death rattles as he slowly chewed each bite of his meal. It seemed fitting, though it made him oddly sad.

 "Don't you get lonely out here?" Frederick asked before he could stop himself, before he could stop to consider how maudlin and pathetic the question mind sound. He rolled his eyes at his own sentimentality.

 Will pondered for a moment. "It's a good place not to be bothered," he said mildly, turning a few stray green beans over with his fork and letting them drop back to the plate to mingle with a smear of marinara sauce before picking them back up. "I'm not fond of being bothered." When he was finished chewing the last remaining green beans, he chased them with the last stray traces of the beer in his glass.

 Despite Will's reserved answer, Frederick had found enough encouragement in his wine glass to press a little further. "You might argue that I'm bothering you right now," he said, tracing the base of the wine glass absently with one finger before taking a last bite of lasagna, though he wouldn't have minded taking another serving if Will were to do it first. He didn't want to be presumptuous, and marveled at his own humility and deference - still unfamiliar and always jarring.

 After offering a vaguely dark chuckle, Will looked up from pouring himself another glass of beer. "Is it considered _bothering_ since I'm the one who invited you, Dr. Chilton?" he asked, seemingly keen to follow his meal with a dessert of hops and barley. His eyes were exceptionally tired tonight, their color seeming dimmed with a sadness that Frederick could only imagine he kept tucked away at home whenever possible.

 Frederick wanted to answer, wanted to offer some pithy banter, but closed his mouth instead even after it had opened in preparation.

 "I don't get bothered in Baltimore," he said finally, and it was a half-truth that he found himself correcting soon after: " - at least, not by people who want things from me."

 Will regarded him with a withering stare, taking the first drink of the new pint of beer. "You have the dreams too," he said as though cutting to the chase. Frederick wasn't sure how to respond, and Will gave a tight, humorless smile down at the scarred surface of the tabletop. "It makes sense, you know - I try to tell myself that, try to rationalize my way through it during the day and to accept the way he follows me around in my head."

 It wasn't favorable dinner conversation, but it felt almost necessary at most and oddly comforting at least.

 He cleared his throat, laying his napkin down and reaching for the wine bottle on his side of the table. Turning to alcohol in tense moments made him feel slightly uncomfortable, remembering the way his father would slam a martini after a particularly hard day at the hospital as an escape, but at least it worked. "It happens to me during the day, too," he admitted, taking a sip of the rich, red liquid and enjoying the way it inexplicably seemed to suck all the moisture out of his mouth. It was more than he'd said to anyone about it since his last release from the hospital after surgery.

 If Will was feeling any sympathy toward him right now, it wasn't trickling across his face; his expression remained the same - flat, fixed.

 "Your lot in life should've been more than this, Dr. Chilton," Will mused, folding his marinara splotched napkin into small, uneven squares. There was a heavily pregnant pause between the two of them, and it felt oppressive.

 "Please, don't call me that right now," Frederick protested with his eyes sliding closed for a moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly wishing he might have stayed at home on his sofa with a handful of half-watched episodes of Master Chef. His head seemed to be buzzing with grapes, though his belly was pleasantly full with enough food to hopefully soak up some of the drink.

 He watched Will drag his fingers through his unkempt curls, as though trying to comb out a few of the snarls inside of his head by maneuvering those on the outside. Will offered a brief, few syllable apology before looking back up at Frederick, his gaze steady despite the fact that his large bottle of horribly strong beer appeared close to empty.

 "Jack Crawford warned me that you'd be teaching this semester, too," he said, tone even with their eyes still locked. "This was supposed to be his solution to me wanting out, wanting to run away, and here you came along and ruined it." Will's tone was at once soft and teasing, but honest and laid bare the same.

 "I didn't know until I checked Freddie Lounds' blog," Frederick blurted out, words hemorrhaging from him with violence. As soon as he'd said it, he wished he hadn't.

 Will gave a startled laugh, and Frederick wondered if he'd tire of the sound of Will laughing, even if it seemed often to be borne out of pain, and he wondered what that said about him. "You think I didn't assume that?" Will asked, almost incredulous. He absently scratched the ears of one of the dogs as it wandered into the kitchen, curious about what food it could scavenge in the only presently occupied room of the house. "You'd make a terrible actor, Frederick." There was fondness in his face, and whether it was directed at him or the dog remained uncertain.

 "I avoided you for weeks," Frederick said, and his voice sounded small to his own ears.

 "I wish you hadn't," Will said, getting up to clear their plates. The dog scattered, off to find its companions, interest waned since the food was being stored away. Frederick wondered if he ought to get up to help, but felt heavy and rooted to the spot where he met his chair. Will took a few moments to tidy up, covering the lasagna pan with tin foil before unceremoniously shoving it into his mostly-empty refrigerator.

 Only when all of the food was stored away did Frederick find his way to his feet, steadying himself with a few splayed fingertips across the surface of the table. Will had turned back from the fridge to face him, something bizarrely tender splashed across his face. Frederick opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late.

 Will stepped forward, into his space, pressing their lips together. Frederick was too startled to close his eyes immediately, the way a normal human being might kiss another human being, and was met with the sight of Will's eyes closed, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks in the dim light of the kitchen. Just as his eyes closed, Will had already leaned away as suddenly as he had come. 

 He nervously cleared his throat, turning away from Frederick and busying himself with the rest of the dishes. His back was to Frederick when he spoke again. "That was inappropriate," he said mildly, scarcely heard over the rush of running water when he twisted the tap a little too hard. He wasn't the only one finding himself at a loss for words.

 "I - I didn't know - "

 Despite his stammering response, Will still hadn't turned back to face him, and instead busied himself with scrubbing at the dishes with an old-fashioned piece of steel wool. It was coarse and tough, fitting for the way that the world seemed to manhandle things that served it. "I didn't either," he agreed, voice still soft.

 Frederick stepped toward him, unable to hold himself back from a bad idea with the finest wine the liquor store of Wolf Trap, Virginia had to offer - not much, he suspected, though it was certainly the thought that counted - and tentatively laid a hand on Will's shoulder before turning Will back to face him.

 There were soap bubbles clinging to his hands and in the coarse hair of his forearms where his sleeves had been rolled to the elbows. His face looked mildly startled, and his eyes widened for a moment, and they both paused to stare at one another, as though both frozen and caught, trapped in a way that neither seemed to mind for the time being.

 The pause broke when Frederick tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Will's head, pulling their mouths back together roughly, enough to make Will hiss out a pained wince before he melted into the kiss. He grasped at Frederick's waist, smudging wet lather across the fine fabric of his sweater in a way that would've perturbed him if he'd opted for one of the tailor made suits he found it ludicrous to wear anymore. Frederick licked hotly into his mouth, bewildered by his own need.

 If Will had been hurt by the way that Frederick had tugged at his hair, he showed no sign of it, clutching at Frederick like he feared he was losing time again, like there was nothing to tether him to reality save for the tenuous string that came from holding onto the half-ruined cashmere twisted in his soapy fingers. Frederick pressed against him, shoving his back against the too-cool surface of the fridge, and Will moaned into his mouth with what almost sounded like desperation.

 Their bodies were pressed together at the hips, and Frederick could feel Will half-hard already, on the way to straining against his jeans, and knew he wasn't far behind. They hadn't broken apart to speak, simply moving their lips and tongues together, sharing space and air. Frederick wedged his knee between Will's legs, savoring the soft groan he made when it seemed he couldn't resist grinding down.

 "What are we doing?" Will gasped as Frederick broke away, kissing down his neck and nipping just below his collar after pushing it aside to get access to the pale skin.

 Frederick gave a soft huff of almost-annoyance, teasing the nipped skin between the points of his teeth, and Will gave a shaky breath. "I should be asking you the same thing," he said, almost a growl, eyes meeting Will's, having to look up from where his head was lower down to kiss at the exposed skin of Will's throat. "This whole thing was your idea."

 Will gave a tremulous laugh, his head tilted back, exposing the pale column of his throat fully for Frederick's taking. His hands were shaky, running underneath the hem of Frederick's sweater. "I didn't plan that far ahead - " he tried to protest, slipping his fingers further beneath the hem, around his front, and Frederick flushed at the idea of Will feeling his scar. He batted Will's hands away, pinning them down to his sides against the cold, unyielding surface he was pressed against.

 "Liar," Frederick hissed, and he felt a delighted shiver run through Will's body. Frederick wasn't sure whether this had come from, and certainly wasn't sure why he let one of Will's hands free so he could use his own to roughly rub at Will's erection through his pants. Will squirmed, wanting more of the sensation but enjoying Frederick's unexpected - but welcome - roughness. "If you told me this wasn't your plan, I wouldn't believe you." Frederick was working his zipper open, reaching inside of his underwear, not sure what had come over him now.

 The idea of hurting Will - hurting another person, really - horrified him, made him flush at the idea that he might be just as bad as those who'd stripped both of them, reduced them to something akin to just bone and the skin stretched over it. Will was shaking all over, and Frederick worried that it might be out of fear, but his eyes were pleading when they met Frederick's, and he felt that something had been punched out of him. There were only so many things left to lose.

 His hand was curled around Will's cock, slowly pumping, and it had been so long since he'd touched another man this way. It always made him feel shy, almost laughably inexperienced, but Will writhed against him, mouth slightly ajar and breath coming hot past his parted lips. Will's head was tipped back, his eyes wide open and locked with Frederick's, and he tilted his head back further, its crown brushing against the fridge, sending magnets scattering to the floor with the force.

 Frederick scraped his teeth down the front of Will's throat, knowing he owned a couple of high necked shirts he could wear to class if the marks persisted through the weekend and into his next run of slow-paced undergrad lectures. Will gave a shuddering gasp, and Frederick quickened his strokes. He swiped the pad of his thumb over the head of Will's cock, skin gone slick and almost too-hot with precome already, and the idea that he still held this kind of power made him feel good.

 "Use me," Will said hoarsely, and despite the best efforts Frederick wanted to take to reign himself in, to not get carried away, he made a soft, possessive sound, crushing his lips against Will's panting mouth again.

 When he pulled away, he continued to stroke Will, who seemed close to coming apart. "Want to get down on your knees for me? Do you like to do that?"

 Will's expression was unreadable, and Frederick wondered if he'd ever been in this position before, knelt down to take someone's cock in his mouth. The idea of being the first made something hot bore into his gut, surgical tools returning to drag something he hadn't known he wanted out of him. Will didn't answer, just sank to his knees in front of Frederick. His back was to the fridge, and he gave a gentle nudge to push Frederick back against the kitchen island.

 Frederick had been well aware of his own hardness, but as Will's slim fingers picked at the button of his trousers, his erection felt almost unbearably persistent. Will's hands were at least talented at divesting him of his clothing, freeing his cock first and then sliding down his pants and underwear to bunch around his thighs. He could feel Will's breath against his skin, humid and bashful, but the sensation was fleeting, covered up as soon as Will took him into his mouth.

 His knees felt dangerously close to collapsing out from underneath him, and he made a choked noise like he'd been pummeled. Will made a soft, approving sound, and Frederick could tell he was breathing heavily through his nose as though willing himself to relax, to concentrate. Frederick suspected he'd never done this before, based on the tentative movements of his tongue, the way he was painstakingly cautious - almost frustratingly so - to avoid any hint of teeth, the way he could feel Will fluttering with the effort not to choke.

 " _Christ_ ," Frederick spit out from gritted teeth as Will tentatively bobbed his head, trying not to overwhelm himself with the motion and the fullness of his mouth, but looking up to meet Frederick's eyes. The eagerness to please was splashed all across his face, overwhelming and almost dizzyingly earnest, and Frederick had to close his eyes, overcome with the fear that he might be taking advantage of someone just as threadbare as himself right now.

 But Will seemed to be adapting well, making up for what he lacked in technique with sloppy, earnest desire to make Frederick feel good, and Frederick wondered where this had come from - maybe it had been borne of the loneliness that rolled off of them in obvious, unending waves. There was spittle leaking from the corners of Will's mouth, rolling down his chin, and while he hated messes, Frederick moaned at the evidence of what Will was doing to him literally shown on his face.

 Will's hand was snaking over his own belly and down between his legs, whimpering with his mouth still full as he indulged himself, stroking his own freed cock as he sucked Frederick. The sight was overwhelming, and Frederick felt his toes curling where they'd remained in his shoes and socks - decidedly proper, even given the current circumstances. His hips were rolling mindlessly, and he could see Will struggling to keep up with his pace, throat floundering at times due to overwhelm.

 He could see Will's hand move faster on himself, and it made him gasp; the sound of Will's spit-soaked lips working up and down his cock seemed obscenely loud in the quiet of his kitchen, particularly coupled with his own desperate, choked groans, and he allowed his fingers to find their way back into Will's hair, winding there and pulling harder than he would've liked in his own. It did little to deter Will, and Frederick could feel the way he moaned helplessly around Frederick's cock in his mouth.

 "I'm close," he gasped, and Will showed no signs of ceasing except to use his free hand to slide up Frederick's inner thigh, rolling his balls between one sure hand. When their eyes met, Frederick gave a strangled cry, coming without the presence of mind to warn Will. Will made a startled coughing sound, fighting to swallow, one small bead of come escaping his lips and rolling down the corner of his mouth.

 Frederick ran a finger through the bead of come. "Don't stop," he urged, fascinated by the way Will's strokes of himself had only seemed to speed up and intensify; he was tugging his cock in  a way that might have made Frederick wince in sympathy if he didn't seem to be so lost in enjoying it. Will looked gratefully up at him, lips red and raw, and Frederick slid the soiled tip of his finger between Will's lips. He sighed at the way that Will's tongue worked sinfully to clean his finger, and he caught himself almost wishing he could get hard again already. _Greedy as ever_ , a voice taunted him.

 Will looked almost panicked now, on edge and needing release; he hadn't moved from where he knelt and Frederick imagined his knees must be aching, his thighs burning, but he had made no move to stand.

 "I want you to come for me, Will," Frederick urged, sliding his fingers gently now through Will's hair. "Now that you made me feel so good."

 It seemed to be the last bit of encouragement Will needed, and he whimpered as though in pain, doubling over on himself as he came all over his still-working fist, and the fronts of his jeans. Will's breath was torn from him desperately, and he hunched over like he'd sustained an injury that knocked the wind out of him. Frederick himself was slumped back against the kitchen island, catching his own breath with his eyes trained on Will, guiltily enjoying the way it seemed to have swept Will off his feet, leaving him to recover in a heap on the kitchen floor.

 They rested for several long minutes, coming back into themselves where they sat almost separately in the small space of Will's tiny kitchen.  

 "That was unexpected," Frederick said when he'd found his voice, even though it was obvious Will hadn't found his own yet. Will looked up at him, expression almost dazed. He extended a hand to Frederick - thankfully, the clean one. Frederick reached out and took the hand, expecting to have to pull Will up to his feet to regain his composure, but Will was pulling him down, down to the floor which Frederick suspected certainly wasn't clean enough to be eaten off of. His suspicions were confirmed when he was seated, wincing at the way that he was now close up to the stray dog hairs that littered the floor, the ones that would now probably cling to the pants he'd likely paid too much for.

 Will kissed him, almost chastely, especially incongruent with the way Frederick swore he could still taste himself on Will's mouth. It might have disgusted him in the past, but it didn't seem so abhorrent now, not with the way that Will sighed gratefully against his lips, looking sleepy, but peaceful in a way he never would've imagined a man like Will Graham could've looked. Frederick could hear the dogs milling around the house and through the other rooms.

 "I'd like it if you'd stay," Will suggested, quieter now as he dabbed at the mess on his right hand with one of his dingy kitchen towels before taking hold of Frederick's hand, almost as though worried he might leave abruptly so soon after.

 If there was an explanation for all this, Frederick supposed he didn't need it just yet.


	2. got me praying, man, this hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uneasy escape and a return to normalcy.

It had become irritatingly commonplace for Frederick to wake up abruptly in the still middle of the night, sometimes thrashing, usually sweating, always trying to will his gasping breath to slow down. It was entirely another to be woken up by someone else's fitful sleep and writhing, mumbling form. He felt himself startle at his unfamiliar surroundings - cheap sheets, unstylish but reliable alarm clock leering at him with jarring red digits.

 It was about half past three in the morning. He wondered if he was still drunk, its effects seemingly wearing off save for the dull throb of too much sugar in the rich beverage seemingly wedged between his eyebrows.

 Will was contorting his body, making garbled noises in his sleep. It was alien enough to be in bed next to another human, and decidedly more so for it to be next to Will Graham, his former patient, current colleague, and someone who'd had his cock in his mouth mere hours earlier. For a moment he floundered over how he ought to respond, rarely on this end of an equation where comfort was needed.

 He laid a tentative hand on Will's shoulder, rolling onto his side and worrying over whether or not he'd cause alarm and ratchet up the fear even further. "Will," he said quietly, voice raspy with sleep. There was no response except the agonized, small sounds of fear. He shook Will's shoulder with a little more persistence. " _Will_ ," he hissed now, kicking himself at how ungentle it sounded to his own ears.

 It appeared to do the trick, and Will's eyes snapped open, leaving him still gasping but at least waking up a little. His hands knotted in the sheets below him, slightly wetted with perspiration through the almost prudish pajama pants and well-worn t-shirt he'd shrugged on before bed. There was a low light coming from underneath the bathroom door; Frederick had noticed Will left it deliberately on before they'd crawled into bed, but he hadn't commented on it out of tact he'd tried to hone lately.

 "I - " he started, but spoke no further.

 "You were having a nightmare," Frederick supplied, though it was likely to be unnecessary to both of them.

 Will gave a husky, almost bitter laugh. "What else is new?" he asked rhetorically. Frederick could hear one of the dogs rolling onto its back, one snoring softly. Half of them slept on the floor in the bedroom, most of them seemingly used to their master's muffled noises in the unsettling space between late night and early morning. "I'm sorry for waking you," he apologized.

 "If it wasn't you, it would've been me," Frederick said honestly - a truth that hurt him to offer but they could both agree on with ease. He wondered if he ought to touch Will, something to reassure him, but founding himself shrinking at the idea. Will was an island unto himself most of the time, by reputation and largely in actuality, save for the not-unwelcome ambush in the kitchen after dinner. "It's all right. Go back to sleep," he encouraged.

 "Sure," Will said. It sounded hollow and almost defeated. He rolled over onto his stomach, burrowing his face in the pillow before turning his head to the side so as not to deprive himself of any precious oxygen. Frederick listened to the sound of Will's breath, his own eyelids hovering barely open as he listened to the gradual slowing of the breathing. It seemed to take hours before tapering off into something tenuous and perhaps not restful in the least.

 He could feel the warmth of Will's body radiating off of him despite the strangely formal distance between them, and it made him glad despite the foreignness of the sensation. He hadn't shared a bed in an eternity, so far back that he'd forgotten the details but imagined it was due to someone he'd slept with a few times and then diverted his focus back to his patients and his hospital and his fucking luxury car. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago.

 Frederick closed his own eyes, dozing off, his last conscious thought being what it might be like to creep his hand into Will's.

 -

The light of the morning was streaming in through the windows, or at least through the tiny slivers of light through the blinds that Will kept as closed as possible. Frederick could still feel the slight ache of a hangover, but the events of the night before were bizarre enough that they stuck out to him, stark and vivid. He wished he'd forced himself to hydrate more before bed, but remembered what an ordeal it had been to choke down the hard well water that came through in Wolf Trap, Virginia.

 He could hear some type of glass or ceramic clinking around in the kitchen. It baffled him that Will would be up before him, in large part because he couldn't imagine that such a rough night of sleep might yield nearly enough rest for a normal person. It dawned on him - with no small amount of associated guilt, mind you - that Will Graham was probably not a textbook _normal person_ in any sense of the word.

Frederick cleared his throat, trying to shake off his sleep. He hauled himself up, dressed only in his undershirt and boxer shorts, and flushed a little over the fact that they did little to conceal the morning half-erection he tried to will away on the way to the bathroom. It made sense that Will wouldn't have a spare toothbrush, and Frederick tried to make do with some practical Colgate on the tip of his finger and a swish of off-brand Listerine ( _Alpine Rush_ , whoever the hell made that). It would do for now until he could get back to his overpriced Tom's of Maine.

When he made it to the kitchen, Will was in a threadbare bathrobe, patiently watching a pot of coffee drip and materialize. He straightened up almost imperceptibly when he heard footsteps behind him, but seemed to remind himself that he wasn't alone in his house this morning. He turned around to face Frederick. The tiredness on his face was evident, and almost made Frederick wince inwardly. His curls were disheveled, and it was clear he'd made no effort to arrange them since waking up.

"Good morning," Frederick said, unsure of the best way to begin the morning. He found himself buzzing inwardly with the unexpected fear that this would be an awkward _morning after_ scenario, and imagined reverting back to hiding in his office with something mediocre for lunch that would make him feel alone in his now-unrefined food preferences. The fear was laughably startling, and caught him off guard. 

"Morning," Will said, voice a little hoarse, and Frederick fleetingly wondered if his tone had something to do with the events of the night before. It sent a little heat through his veins, and he prayed he wasn't hardening even more noticeably in the thin fabric of his underwear. There was an expression on his face that was difficult to decipher - sheepish, but trying not to show it? Frederick considered himself better than average at reading humans - or at least, he had at one time - but Will seemed infuriatingly difficult in almost all aspects. "I was considering making eggs but I didn't know if…"

It was true that sometimes eggs bothered his ever-finicky digestive system these days, though not every time, but Frederick found himself reluctant to be _difficult_ this morning. "I eat eggs," he said, feeling helpless with no idea where to stand. The kitchen suddenly felt oppressively small.

"Would you like some, then?" Will asked, pouring him a cup of coffee in a slightly chipped coffee mug - stoneware with a pheasant and stalks of wheat etched into the side, something that Frederick would've wrinkled his nose at if it weren't so befitting the small, rustic space of Will Graham's kitchen. Will tipped a thin stream of milk into the coffee, watching the color dapple and swirl the way he'd observed Frederick do to his own over lunch on particularly taxing days. He wordlessly slid the mug across the table to him. "I don't drink skim," he added apologetically. Will's own coffee remained black, and he tucked into his own mug immediately.

Frederick took a gulp of his coffee, in large part due to his desire to busy himself, but found himself regretting it as he felt uncomfortably warm all over and wondering if sweat beaded already on his forehead. There was something about waking up here, unfamiliar and dried out from wine and dressed in barely anything that painted him uncomfortably, thoroughly filleted and embarrassed.

Escape seemed the only viable option.

"I - I wasn't planning on staying - wouldn't want to trouble you," Frederick offered, grateful to narrowly avoid stammering pathetically. 

Will regarded him with a look that was equal parts quizzical and desperate in its desire not to appear hurt. "You wouldn't be," he said, leaning down to scratch at the ears of one of the dogs who'd moseyed through the kitchen, stretching low at his feet in a jangle of tags and a shake of floppy ears. "I don't mind."

This was not ideal, and Frederick balked inwardly, wondering if he ought to stay, if he was the only one imagining tension that didn't exist. His skin felt too small.

"No, no, I ought to go," Frederick said, taking another hurried mouthful of coffee even though his throat was still raw and scalded from the first. "There is a stack of papers waiting at home for me to grade - finals coming up, all that," It was a convenient excuse, a lifeline he grasped at which he hoped Will of all people could appreciate even though the idea of spending a Sunday morning grading essays the fraternity brothers who sat in the back of his Thursday morning lecture had probably collaboratively cheated on together seemed less than ideal. Frederick briefly considered the idea of Will's mouth meandering down his body, the two of them laid out in Will's mussed flannel sheets, the idea of writing a stern warning against plagiarism in sharp red ink the furthest thing from his mind as the pink pad of tongue trailed across the curve of his hipbone -

"Right," Will said, skirting the edge of terse and certainly avoiding warmth. "I settled for reflection papers this time around." The fight had left his voice along with the energy. 

Frederick couldn't keep the look of apology from crawling across his face. "I really did have a lovely time," he offered, the idea of being an ungracious guest gnawing at him to see Will's cool expression. Slinking off like this, leaving Will rumpled and painted in the early morning light to pick at plain, lightly salted and peppered eggs alone seemed a sort of betrayal that Frederick was uncomfortable dealing in, but unequipped to avoid for now.

"I did too," Will agreed, though Frederick couldn't help but consider that it might now be borne of obligated pleasantry. "Maybe some other time?" It sounded like the type of banal exchange Frederick had always dreaded - _we ought to see each other for lunch!_ by an old colleague who would never call, familiar with the intricacies of Frederick's inadequacy in his now-past life.

"Yes, of course," he echoed, meaning it if he'd ever gather the nerve again. He excused himself, returning to Will's bedroom to gather his clothes and have a forlorn last gaze upon the bed he wouldn't mind returning to. He kicked himself for his own cowardice.

When he returned to the kitchen, Will had already cracked two eggs into a skillet, turning them with a plastic spatula. Frederick considered that Hannibal would've frowned, clicking his tongue in dismay at the crude attempt at creating a meal worthy of consumption. He was here, even in the kitchen, the small space he and Will shared, and it had perhaps been a vain hope that there wouldn't have to be a third, stoic ghost in the space they'd fostered together. His stomach felt heavy.

"Thank you again - for everything," Frederick said quietly, not wanting to startle.

Will turned to regard him with a smile that would've been polite if it weren't greyed at the edges with a tight sadness Frederick didn't want to place. "Sure," he said, trying at brightness. He pushed a cheap Styrofoam travel cup in Frederick's direction, clearly filled with coffee for the road. "If you want it," he added, seeming sheepish to be offering a parting gift to someone seemingly in the neat process of rejecting him.

"Thank you for this too," Frederick told him, meaning it.

For a moment, Will abandoned the eggs. "See you later," he said evenly, perhaps in an effort to save face. He laid a tentative hand on Frederick's forearm, leaning in to press a fleeting, nearly-guilty kiss to the corner of his mouth before returning his attention to the eggs. Frederick made a quiet few syllables of agreement, turning to leave before he could consider the idea of rescinding his intention to leave. 

The briefest brush of Will's lips against his skin seemed to smolder at the edge of his mouth the entire drive home.

-

Monday came and went without incident, unless one paused to consider that Frederick had sulked in his on-campus office for the entirety of the morning, his class already drawn to a close and awaiting their grades in a frantic flurry of Blackboard refreshing. It was clearly work he could've done at home, could've done in his pajamas without freezing to death in the cramped quarters of his office, broken heater taunting him as ever.

 Things were always so easy when one stayed home and minded his own business.

 He spent the afternoon picking at leftover vegetarian fried rice - poorly heated and with brittle grains - and manually entering percentages and points in between avoiding the more tawdry corners of the World Wide Web that he knew his name haunted these days. Lunch passed without incident as well, unless you counted the way he wondered what primitive starches Will might be picking at somewhere out there in the world during the noon hour.

 When Frederick had finally made it home in the early Sunday afternoon, it had taken him thirty minutes in the hottest shower Maryland had to offer to get the smell of Will Graham's dog hair flecked flannel sheets off of his skin. The whole milk in the coffee had caused his temperamental stomach to knot well into the evening. These types of things were near-impossible to predict. He'd come into his frantically-moving fist late in the night when the stomachache had faded, incisors almost punching through the skin of the knuckles of his free hand. This type of thing was easier to predict.

 Frederick balked to imagine how Freddie would've described the after-dinner events of Saturday evening - something punny about animal hunger, about human flesh in a human mouth, something about freeing a monster from a cage, that type of pulp-novel smut that he'd have to commend her on in the most private recesses of his mind. Freddie Lounds had just the type of borderline-admirable mind to make that sort of vulgarity sound even worse splashed across hyperlinks and hashtags.

 Even so, the act of eating alone on a campus that felt like a shirt size too small was suffocating, and Frederick left for home even before his office hours had ended. He supposed it was a defeated act of retreat, and kicked himself for believing that the rapidly-emptying space of the university commons would be tolerable when he was forced to be alone in it. Though, could it be considered _forced_ when he had been the one who'd fled, who'd skittered out the room instead of buckling down and eating a plate of eggs like an actual adult?

 He thought of the times he'd flippantly suggested a patient utilize a _coping skill_ as a means of _distress tolerance_ and wondered if he knew what the fuck it meant anymore.

 Still, the idea of resigning himself to hibernation in his pajamas until the start of spring lectures seemed particularly pathetic in his imagination even through the fog of a Xanax and residual cabernet, and so Frederick resolved himself to spend Tuesday on campus.

 Eyes still bleary with sleep, he'd slathered a few slices of artisanal whole grain bread with stone ground peanut butter and organic raspberry preserves into two passable sandwiches and stuffed them into his bag with at least enough delicacy not to smash them beyond repair. It was a vain hope, one he wished he could explain away enough to keep its faint rush from beating in him.

 The morning hours seemed to tick and fly by in turns. Sierra, a cheerful poetry major from his abnormal psychology lecture, came by to beg him for insight into just how he'd diagnose Sylvia Plath before he'd finally shooed her off with a vague platitude about a _happy holiday_ after nearly  an hour. This had not been what he'd had in mind upon completing his residency. The rest of the morning was spent tidying up his grades and wringing his hands, though he'd deny it.

 At five past noon, he pulled on his wool peacoat and made the admittedly brief trek to Will's office.

 Perhaps it would be a useless endeavor, one where he'd arrive to find a vacant space, left dormant until the thaw of spring. Per the irritated gossip of his own department, the criminal justice department seemed to be paradoxically lax in adhering to the rules of campus hours at the close of the semester while conversely adamant about adhering to the schedule of bar district's best dives. Suddenly the sandwiches in his bag felt heavy with presumption.

 There was no adornment on the door to Will's office, just his name on a plain brown plaque with cheap white letters. To his relief, there was a sliver of light peeking from under the doorframe.

 Before Frederick could stop to reconsider, he rapped sharply on the door.

 He could hear an abrupt rustling of papers on the other side and wondered if it was out of startle reflex, and immediately felt a small, absurd pang of guilt for the idea that he might be the source of something triggering it.

 Will opened the door, and a brief look of surprise skittered across his features before settling into practiced acceptance, however feigned it might be. He looked tired as ever, a healthy growth of more than a couple of days' stubble, and the perpetual shadow of rings under his eyes. Frederick winced in sympathy.

 "Hi," Will said, not bothering yet to invite him in.

 "Hi," Frederick repeated, aiming for casual but perhaps near-missing into tentative. "I - there was so much to do yesterday that I just ate in my office." There was a shade of truth to it, one he hoped Will might tactfully accept, however transparent it was in its offering.

 Will stepped aside at that, though it was unlikely he believed Frederick's paltry excuse. He returned to his desk, picking up the dented thermos that was never far from his side. He poured himself another cup of coffee, one Frederick suspected had not been empty for long.

 "I wasn't sure you'd come by today. I thought you might be at home," Will said mildly, sitting down on the comfortable - if outdated - couch the university had supplied for his office. It was small enough to fit, but large enough that the two of them had spent numerous lunches perched at opposite ends with room to spare. He didn't motion for Frederick to join him, but offered no protest when he did anyway.

 "Well," Frederick said, clearing his throat. "I've always found that it's easier to work in a designated area - much fewer distractions." Will made a small, humming noise of agreement. Frederick slid his hand into his bag, producing the two sandwiches, almost sheepish but certainly not wanting to carry them around any longer. "I thought maybe - "

 At that, a small, thin smile came to Will's lips, and he accepted the offered sandwich. It was rare that Will remembered to feed himself if there wasn't an occasion, which Frederick knew too well based on the number of times he'd tried to make small talk with Will about what he'd had for dinner the night before, only to find the answer to be popcorn or bourbon. It had occurred to him now that the pretense of lunch with Frederick might be an occasion for Will to remember to eat - looking for company, mirroring the mannerism of eating to sustain.

 Will unwrapped the sandwich, carefully bagged as though by someone's mother, and Frederick suddenly wanted to know it all - who had made young Will Graham's lunches before sending him off to school? What had Will been like before the world had begun the slow process of chipping away, taking parts and pieces until the threadbare professor sitting on the small sofa beside him had remained? When did the first signs of haunting begin creeping into the marrow of Will's bones?

 It made Frederick glad to know that the art of empathy hadn't left him, undercut by curiosity and ambition and left to wither on the vine.

 "Thank you," Will said calmly, taking a bite from the corner and sending a rattle of crumbs down his front and onto the translucent film of the baggie it had come in. "That was thoughtful of you."

 Frederick waved a dismissive hand. "I assumed a reminder to eat once in a while wouldn't hurt," he joked, though he wondered if it would land too closely to home.

 Will took another bite, almost as though to waste a split second of time before saying quietly, "I really wasn't sure you'd want to come for lunch again."

 There was more guilt simmering in him for his abrupt exit, the proverbial Walk of Shame he'd heard more than a few sorority sisters tease each other about on Monday mornings - _girl, you were so fucked up, couldn't find one heel, came home barefoot with last night's make up on, bitch_ and the peals of giggles - and counted himself brave for returning and Will gracious for letting him.

 He took a moment to consider his response before allowing him to admit: "I wasn't sure you'd want me to," he said, delicately picking off a corner of sandwich and chewing it slowly. "I wasn't exactly kind the other morning," Frederick admitted, proud of the ability to acknowledge fault, knowing it had been hard won out of sheer, undeniable necessity in the past few years. There were a few seconds of knowing silence between them. "I suppose I was nervous."

 Will's expression had remained impassive, and he was nearly a third of the way done with the sandwich when he met Frederick's eyes. "You weren't the only one." He washed his most recent bite of sandwich down with that impossibly black coffee, so dark as molasses that Frederick couldn't imagine swallowing it. There was a small bead of peanut butter in the corner of his mouth. "That wasn't - " Will closed his eyes in a brief respite of consideration. "I didn't invite you over to my house with that expectation."

 It hadn't even occurred to Frederick that Will inviting him for lasagna and green beans was some type of nefarious ruse, and it made him smile to think that Will might have come up with such a plot. As far as nefarious ruses went, this was low on either of their lists of ills. Frederick picked off another bite of bread, making a note to buy some with a less distasteful crust next time but not wanting to seem childish by discarding it.

 "Of course not."

 His eyes strayed to the way that Will's free hand was tightened in on itself, maybe sweating but certainly not eager to reveal if that were the case.

 "Not something I typically do," Will added, thumb pressing down on the knuckle of his index finger, offering the quick pop of a seemingly overdue _crack_. "I just - "

 "I didn't think that it was," Frederick said honestly. "And I don't either."

 "Neither of us are particularly outgoing these days." Will offered a small laugh, one that made Frederick smile in turn. "Though that's not exactly a new development for me, is it?"

 Frederick tore off another piece of his sandwich and left it perched between his thumb and forefinger for a moment. "At least you're good to animals," he said before popping the bite into his mouth, relishing in the second laugh Will allowed out. There was still a loose, relaxed ease between them, not chased away by the awkward morning in the kitchen, and he found himself unexpectedly glad for it.

 An oversized glob of jelly dripped from the last two bites of Will's peanut butter and jelly sandwich and landed on the knee of his pants - light colored enough that it'd leave a mark. Will offered a small curse and blotted at it with an already-wadded paper napkin, rolling his eyes at his own inconvenience toward himself.

 "You're a disaster," Frederick told him good naturedly, passing him his own stainless steel water bottle so he could wet the napkin.

 "Aren't we all," Will mused, patting the slightly-lessened jelly mark to his satisfaction - as good as it could get, Frederick supposed, not entirely unsalvageable. Will apparently didn't hold too much of a grudge and finished the last two bites of the betraying sandwich. He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

 Frederick's sandwich was nearing its end as well, and he wondered where this would leave them - back to separate ends of campus, where the events of the weekend would weigh on Frederick as he carried himself through winter break, an hour from Wolf Trap until the New Year. The idea of eating lunch alone for a few weeks felt heavy with the promise of something akin to loneliness, and he dreaded it already. He laid down the rest of sandwich on the empty bag on Will's coffee table, turning to the side.

 He couldn't explain why he'd twined his fingers in the curls at the back of Will's head, couldn't explain why he'd crashed their mouths together, teeth narrowly avoiding clacking against the other's with the force of their lips meeting. Will made a startled - though not unhappy - noise, exhaling a hot sigh into Frederick's own mouth. His hand went to Frederick's waist. His mouth tasted like peanut butter.

 They kissed like this for a few moments, taking warmth from one another with Frederick's fingers still wound in Will's hair, the remainder of the picked-at sandwich long forgotten as Frederick nipped lightly at Will's lower lip.

 "Fuck," Will said breathlessly as the broke apart, his lips reddened and wet. He ran a rattled hand through his now-rumpled curls. "I didn't think that - "

 "Shh," Frederick murmured, kissing him again, this time dragging him in close with his hand curled around the back of Will's neck and his other settling on Will's knee where it was folded up partly underneath him. Will's tongue was impossibly soft against his own in contrast to the rasp of his beard against Frederick's chin and cheeks.

 "What are we doing?" Will asked, echoing his question over the weekend as their veins swam with alcohol, but there was nothing to slow their comprehension of the moment this time. The question still seemed destined not to be answered, even as Will laid back on the couch, head settling back on one of the slightly flattened plaid throw pillows. His curls were fanned out on the pillow as he pulled Frederick down on top of him, knotting his fingers in the collar of Frederick's wool sweater to get leverage over him.

 "Christ Will, I still don't know," Frederick huffed in good natured annoyance, rucking up Will's plaid button down where it was tucked into his pants to slide his hand underneath and over the pale skin of Will's belly. Will let out a startled laugh against his mouth, legs parting so that Frederick could settle between them. He pinned Will's right hand down to the couch, still allowing him to hold onto Frederick's collar - that small sliver of control relinquished in an act of mercy. "Do you really want to do this here?" he asked, though the question sounded foolish to his own ears.

 Will didn't answer, but his hips lifted involuntarily as though looking for some type of friction. Frederick's hand splayed out across his stomach as he pressed their mouths still-harder together as Will's legs widened on either side of him.

 "Please, fuck," Will swore, a needy gasp escaping him at the feel of Frederick sucking a dark spot into the underside of his jaw even through the layer of stubble he found there. Frederick gave up his grip of Will's wrist, snaking around to grab a greedy handful of Will's ass through the temporarily ruined pants, kneading him there. He let go to Frederick's collar to try to sneak a hand down to grapple with his belt.

 Frederick swatted his hand away half-heartedly, making quick work of the belt and the fly of Will's pants himself. Will sighed gratefully at the lessened pressure of being trapped in his pants, his breath hot against Frederick's lips where they'd parted to allow him room to work on getting him free of his pants. Will lifted his hips compliantly, allowing Frederick to push his pants and underwear down to bunch around his knees.

 Will was already hard, body already vibrating with need that seemed to roll off of him in waves. Frederick wondered who the last person who'd laid a single fingertip to Will had been, wondered if he ought to dread or envy the answer. He licked his own palm hotly before curling around the base of Will's cock, dragging slowly up the shaft and then back down. Will made a strangled noise, clearly trying to still himself.

 The response only seemed to encourage Frederick, sending a near-molten flood through him, the force of it making him pant out two hot breaths. He kissed Will more gently now, coupling the feel of their lips together with a few quick, loose passes of his hand while knowing it wouldn't be enough. He could feel the desperate noises Will was clearly struggling to keep contained, almost as much as he struggled to keep from wriggling up into Frederick's hand.

 "Is that good?" Frederick whispered hotly against Will's jaw, guiltily delighting in the knowledge that the answer would easily be a quietly huffed _no_.

 He could see the way Will's hands knotted in the bottom of either side of his button down in a last-ditch bid to control himself, composure long thrown to the wind but still well-dressed enough to be a sharp contrast to the way that Frederick had last had him on his knees in a nearly-ragged flannel shirt days earlier.

 "More, please," Will said, neediness creeping into his voice. Frederick smiled against his neck, still nipping there and savoring the small hitching of Will's breath. He tightened his grip, firmer and faster and still wet with his saliva. Will made a choked sound and pushed his hips upward into Frederick's grasp.

 "Unbutton your shirt," Frederick instructed, though it surprised him as it escaped as an order. Will's hands trembled as he tried to pick open the front buttons of his shirt, taking considerably longer due to his understandable loss of coordination. It was beautiful to watch him try his best to obey, Frederick realized with an almost sickened sense of wrong.

 When the shirt was finally undone, Frederick leaned down, giving a sharp nip to the thin layer of skin at Will's collarbone, perhaps sticking out further than normal due to Will's chronic lack of appetite these days. Will's moan was loud enough that Frederick startled, worrying they'd be overheard by a student looking for advice or one of the custodians the university still paid to clean the building even as the occupants dwindled to bare bones staff for the holiday break.

 "I'm sorry!" Frederick blurted, not eager to harm but unwilling to cease in pumping Will's cock.

 "No, no - please - " Will argued, tipping his head back to bare his throat, arching up into Frederick's slick fist. "I like it that way," he admitted, legs trembling where they remained around Frederick's waist. The confession startled him, partly due to the idea that Will - tired, greyed, _beautiful_ Will, who'd hurt so much and still pleaded here for more - would ask him for this, and partly due to the overwhelming rush of desire that crashed through him, the urge to hurt not unwelcome when begged for so earnestly. Frederick buried his face in Will's throat before sinking his teeth lightly into the juncture of neck and shoulder as his strokes hastened.

 "You like letting me do whatever I want, Will?" Frederick asked, alarmed at how rough his voice sounded, heavy and like poorly ground glass.

 Will writhed beneath him like some wild thing, eyes screwed shut. "Yeah," he gritted out before his mouth dropped open, expelling a rushed gasp as Frederick laid a line of bites down to the top of his chest, adjusting to bite the patch of skin over his heart. It knocked his thrusts off balance as he seemed to spasm, veering dangerously close to climax. "I want you too," he gasped.

 It landed with a clatter between the two of them, and Frederick broke away from him entirely to claw at his own belt and pants. Will made no effort to help, instead reaching down automatically to stroke himself slowly, trying to stave off coming hotly between the two of them. Frederick wrestled his belt open and forced his slacks down, taking his place atop Will's body to rub their erections together. He groaned at the too-good heat of their flesh pressed together, leaning forward for a few seconds to press their foreheads together as Will wrapped on hand around the two of them.

 "How long has it been since someone made you feel like this?" Frederick growled, grasping again at Will's ass now that it was bared, smooth and firm in his hand. He dug his fingers in, mindlessly possessive as he waited for the answer, rocking against Will. He could feel his own cock dribbling as he saw the glint of wetness at the smooth head of Will's cock, knowing he'd waited long enough to wring this from the two of them.

 "Too-too long," Will stammered, feeling the way Frederick held him, pulling him apart as best as possible with one hand while gripping his hip punishingly with the other. Frederick licked a hot stripe up the front of his throat, rubbing the tip of one dry fingertip around the hidden, furled opening. Will gave a shuddering moan, trying to relax, to let his legs fall open and his hips angle for more touch.

 "And has anyone done this to you before?" Frederick asked, unable to stop himself, still circling the tight clutch of Will's hole with his finger. He could feel Will trembling underneath him, could see Will's pupils blown wide as he shook his head wordlessly. He'd made it this far with a woman in the past, despite the fumbling it had taken him to get the hang of it, and missed the unimaginable tightness of being allowed inside of another person this way, and Frederick wondered how it would feel to be allowed inside of Will - the noises he'd make, the way he'd wriggle closer down to his knuckles in desperation, the way his curls would stick to his forehead with sweat as he cried out -

 "No, no, _please_ , I want you to do it," Will said, tone broken and needy.

 Frederick smiled down at him, letting the hand at Will's hip meander up his body to card tenderly through his shock of curls. He dipped the barest hint of the pad of his finger into Will's hole, tilting Will's chin up so there was no choice but for their eyes to meet. "Do you want my fingers inside of you, then?" he asked, firm but certainly not with the desire to take what was not allowed to him with eagerness.

 Will made no motion to speak, simply bobbing his head, trying to keep some modicum of composure which had already slipped through his fingers.

 The idea that he had come woefully unprepared for this again landed gracelessly to Frederick, though he offered himself the allowance that this was beyond the realm of expectation - the spectacle of Will straining up and against him, pleading to be taken and pushed into, to be made to fit inside of, to be here in complete submission.

 Frederick leaned back to scramble for his bag, rummaging in and finding an indulgently-priced vial of hand cream, purchased out of desperation to make aging even slightly less obvious on any part of him.

 "This is all I have," he said, the spell of his dominance temporarily snapped and tempered into bashfulness at what Will wouldn't take as emptyheadedness. For his part, Will nodded, worrying his lip between his teeth with such buzzing unease that Frederick wondered if he could taste copper, sealing their mouths together so Will wouldn't have to bear it alone.

 Frederick arranged their hips so Will could angle his up with Frederick between his splayed thighs, offering himself even as his legs shook. Frederick took Will's hand in his own, assured but gentle, guiding Will down to touch himself.

 "It'll be better if you relax," he instructed, running one now-patient hand down Will's flank, the absurdity of pinning apart Will's legs on the couch in his mildly-dingy university office on the quietest day left in the semester gone to the wayside as he laid a soft kiss on Will's forehead. He slicked two fingers thoroughly, watching Will swallow what seemed to be a fat lump in his throat. "I won't hurt you, Will."

 They'd both hurt so much that it hardly seemed fair, though the pessimistic part of him wondered if it was equally unfair to promise such a thing.

 If he worried over the same thing, Will gave no sign of it, instead leaning up to kiss Frederick softly, shakily on the lips as he continued to touch himself. Frederick pulled away, thumbing Will's lower lip fondly with his dry hand.

 Will had wrestled his pants down further, enough to allow access, and Frederick trailed one wet finger down the cleft of his ass. Letting out a soft, uncertain noise, Will laid one hand briefly over his eyes before reaching back down, steadying himself and holding one thigh back. Frederick marveled at the sight of him, spread out with the dark, softest part of him on display and ready to be touched.

 He gently traced the rim of Will's hole with his slick fingertip, not moving inside but allowing him to get used to the sensation of being touched here, feeling a quiet, silly sense of pride to certainly be the one person on earth left to give grace to Will Graham. "That's it," he whispered, kissing the side of Will's neck, barely pressing the tip of his finger inside. The heat was staggering.

 "Oh," Will whispered quietly, almost as though he hadn't realized he'd made the sound, and let out a long, weak breath. He leaned his head back, eyes closed. When he made no effort to protest, Frederick slid his finger inside without pretense. Will gasped, surging slightly forward before slumping back onto the couch.

 "Is this okay?" Frederick asked, concerned at the harshness of the sound but encouraged by the way Will's hand began pumping himself faster. He was hard now, almost painfully so, but made no move to touch himself, allowing Will the time to adjust. Will bobbed his head in earnest, biting down hard on his lip as Frederick experimentally quirked his finger inside. He let out a long, slow breath, rocking back against the finger. "Tell me if - "

 Will looked temporarily exasperated, as though it was impossible for a moment to hold his frustration back. "I will - it feels good - " he gasped, punctuating with a broken moan as Frederick stroked his finger inside of him, sliding out incrementally before pushing back in and rendering him incapable of speaking except to wetly pant out a small " _more_ , please, just - " before leaning backwards, trying to be obedient and pliable though he hadn't been asked.

 Frederick kissed him hotly on the mouth, pushing his tongue in as he slid a second finger deep in alongside the first. Will cried out against his mouth, blessedly stifled. His chest was heaving between the two of them, heart hammering, beyond the point of calming himself. Frederick's cock throbbed.

 For a moment he searched, abstractly assure of what he was looking for, though he'd never been particularly adroit at the physical side of examining someone, more content to clinically probe inside of a mind than a body. He crooked his fingers, moving inquisitively inside Will's body, so hot and tight he felt he'd never escape alive, until -

 his fingers brushed against the small protrusion inside of Will, making him cry out louder now, jerking between the two of them and desperately jerking his cock, rougher than Frederick would choose for himself. He was making a high pitched keening sound, biting down on his lip enough that Frederick could now surely see beading on the inside and dribbling down between lip and gum. Frederick laid one hand over his mouth, unwilling to be caught in a compromising position where he'd struggled so hard to remain inconspicuous enough to disappear for the last several months. He'd begun to enjoy the anonymity, and would continue to relish if it meant he could stay here, tangled together with Will as though the rest of the world hadn't come and gone along without them.

 "Please," Will panted, muffled by Frederick's hand. " - please, I'll be good. I'll be so good," he begged, voice small and shaky enough to wring an ache in Frederick's chest. He pulled his hand away, sealing their mouths together, tasting blood along with the sweetness of the forgotten jelly of the sandwich. It nearly turned his stomach for a split, terrible moment before he chased in away, encouraging himself to be lost and never found again in the spit-slick slide of Will's tongue against him.

 His fingers hadn't stilled, continuing to alternate between gently circling and then rubbing over the bump of Will's prostate, and Will let his free hand creep down to curl around Frederick's cock. Frederick sighed hotly, lurching forward to kiss Will again before biting down on his bared collarbone again - once, twice, feeling Will's body arching toward his mouth, asking for more.

 "You _are_ good," Frederick agreed, pushing his fingers deeper and catching Will's prostate on the out-stroke and again as he pushed back inside, shushing him kindly as Will let out a desperate, throaty sound, protesting for more.

 Will appeared to be carrying tension in every part of himself, cock red and weeping, balls drawn up tightly toward his body. "I'm so close," he whimpered. "Frederick, I - "

 Adjusting himself to pin Will's knee to the side, Frederick slid his fingers faster, harder, in and out of him, keen to reduce him to pitiful, needy sounds as he held him in place. Will's hand was insistent, if uncoordinated, on Frederick, and if he hadn't been easily awarded the upper hand here, he wasn't convinced he wouldn't be the one begging for his own release.

 "Come for me," Frederick murmured, letting his fingers settle on Will's prostate to move in insistent, firm circles until Will let out a final, sobbing burst from his lungs, letting come dribble and spill from him, across the exposed skin of his belly and up toward his chest. He was shaking as though he'd come apart into small, indistinguishable bits that would be swept away on the wind at a moment's notice. His sounds were incoherent, deliciously broken and coming apart further still.

 Lost in the brute force of his orgasm, Will collapsed backward, grip on Frederick's cock faltering, and in the haze of his own need, Frederick batted his hand fully away and jerked himself quickly, surging up and atop Will's body, sliding his fingers free from Will's body to smear in the trails of come on his bared chest, sticky and warm. His mind seemed to have left him, most noticeably gone as he curled his further-soiled fingers around himself, mind gone primal enough to savor the heat of Will's come on his own cock. He trailed one finger against the sore, loosened rim of Will's hole, wondering it would be like to press himself inside.

 Will's eyes were dazed, but aware enough to meet Frederick's eyes, half lidded and tired now but still trained on him. "It's your turn," he whispered as he tried to catch his breath, licking the blood away from the bottom of his lip, even as it crept over the precipice and to the top of his chin. Watching his tongue dart out to catch the crimson bead made Frederick gasp, spilling onto Will's chest.

 He remained propped up on one hand, not wanting to fall against Will and smear their mingled come across the front of his sweater, and marveling at his ability to remain even slightly upright given the fact that every bone in his body seemed to have been pulled from him. The only sound in the room was their combined effort to draw breath, shaky and slow.

 There was a beatific smile glazed across Will's face, even as his eyes closed, and he wiped at his mouth. The back of his hand came away with a smear of blood, but he seemed to pay it no mind.

 "You seem to be bleeding," Frederick observed noncommittally, as though he hadn't been watching the small wound develop with wonder as he insistently wrung Will's pleasure from him.

 "Hmm," Will said, lips back together and eyes heavily lidded as he looked now at the back of his hand. " - was distracted," he slurred, seeming suddenly to be unbearably tired. Frederick plucked more than a few tissues from a mostly-ignored box resting on the coffee table, cleaning Will's chest and his own hand as best as possible.

 An amenable silence settled between them as Frederick slid his hand up Will's chest, now mopped clean, and settled between his collarbones, fingers spread possessively over his chest. He leaned down to kiss Will, chasing away the last bit of blood there, worrying the cut with his tongue and making Will groan softly, though not out of objection.

 "That was - " he said uncertainly when he'd pulled away. He considered where to proceed from here, hoping he hadn't overstepped a boundary. "I just came to eat; I didn't think we'd - "

 "I know."

 There was something pulling in his chest enough to ache, remembering the way he'd carefully packed a small, unassuming pair of sandwiches in the pitiful hope that Will would allow him past the threshold despite his own social ineptitude. The idea that no peace offering in the world might bridge the gap of three-to-four calendar weeks between today's final day on campus and the dawn of the next semester settled in him as a heavy weight.

 Frederick cleared his throat. "I guess - I'm finished with my grades, so I won't be back until the Spring semester," he said, finding himself awkward and floundering, and kicked himself for what might be shaping up to be a repeat of his slinking off and back to his apartment in Baltimore the days prior. With his eyes closed, Will made a small noise of agreement. "So I guess I'll see you then."

 At the statement, Will's eyes opened again, clearly somewhere close to dozing but jerked out of it at the short sentence. There seemed to be multiple thoughts in his mind, as though he were picking through them and trying to decide on which to share. When he spoke, his voice was sleepy, more relaxed and languid than a man like Will had any right to be, and he laid one hand on Frederick's where it rested on his still-exposed hip.

 "Lunch exists in other places outside of campus, Frederick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update - I wasn't sure if I'd add more but these two in this universe wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> Thank you all for your kind words!  
> The title of this chapter is from Foster the People - Sit Next to Me.


	3. somewhere in the climate is warm long as you around me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter Break for Will and Frederick, though it's hardly a vacation.

Frederick had made sure to bring each ingredient of the salad he'd offered to go with dinner tonight in Wolf Trap, taking great pains to make sure that Will wouldn't balk at the idea of eating something that wasn't prepared right in front of him. Maybe it was purely superstition at this point. Maybe this was what came of hypervigilance. Frederick knew that some part of him would've appreciated the consideration if their roles had been reversed.

 He was carrying a conscientious woven tote bag loaded with arugula, goat cheese, candied pecans, sliced grapes, and some type of tangy vinaigrette. He couldn't remember a time where he'd seen Will eat a single leaf of salad. There would be a first time for everything.

 As Frederick imagined Will picking at a small plate of greens in front of him, it occurred to him that he had seen periodic and unexpected slivers of politeness, and the realization was wholly odd.

 There was also a pair of darkly opaque bottles of the beer he'd brought last time in the tote bag, ones he'd taken care to wrap in thin, tall paper bags to keep them from shattering and soaking the salad ingredients in beer. Frederick beat down the guilty part of him that gnawed at him, preying on the fact that maybe bringing the same beer that had set off the events of his last memorable dinner in Wolf Trap could lead to a similar outcome.

 When Will answered the door, he was gently nudging away a few dogs circling his feet, trying to sneak out the front door until Will gently murmured, "back, back, guys, come on" until they dispersed. Frederick admired the patience and command, and considered the fact that his own frustration always got the better of him.

 "Hello," Will told him pleasantly, standing aside to allow Frederick to get out of the cold. "Surprised you made it - they're predicting snow or ice tonight."

 Frederick offered a dismissive shrug. "Perhaps, but we all know how weather _experts_ seem to be less than reliable." He didn't have the nerve to say aloud that he had hoped - maybe even expected - to spend the night if he was lucky enough to be invited into Will's bed. In another life, Frederick had been confident about sex - pompous, even - too busy for a relationship but never too busy to share an evening with another.

 That part of him had gone now, and he was left with a shabby associate professor who looked at him from under curls slowly greying under the pressure of a dozen half-lives burned through too quickly for comfort. It was nothing Frederick minded, all things considered, considering a comfort like putting on a decade-old t-shirt.

 Will regarded him with a suspicious look, though not one rooted in unease or disdain, but carrying an eyebrow that quirked to match the same motion of the corner of his mouth. "I made spaghetti this time," he said, retreating into the kitchen with Frederick and a half dozen dogs trailing behind him. A small white one nipped at the heel of Frederick's fine leather shoe, and he was glad Will's back was turned to him when he couldn't help but shoot a lightly disgusted look in the dog's direction.

 "I left the mushrooms out for you," Will told him over one shoulder, producing a stemless wine glass and a pint glass with a leaping salmon on it. Frederick wondered if it had been a gift from someone well-meaning who knew of a few of Will's particular interests.

 "I appreciate that," Frederick said, setting the tote bag down on the counter and bringing out the salad. Without commentary, Will handed him a large bowl, one Frederick suspected had come from a starter set of mixing bowls.

 It had been over a week, closer to a week and a half since they'd seen one another, that day they'd spent the lunch hour sprawled in a knot of limbs on Will's compact office couch. Will was a hopeless texter, leaving messages gone unanswered until sending apologetic follow ups hours later. He had a tendency to wander off without his phone, perpetually lost in his head and wandering outside to get fresh air when it became too much.

 He'd called four days into the break, though, asking Frederick to come over for dinner when he was able. They'd decided on tonight - a quiet Thursday, perhaps in an unspoken celebration of the idea that there was nothing waiting for them on Friday due to the winter break. Frederick spent the remaining days excited and nervous, like some kind of blushing teenage boy anticipating sliding his hand up his prom date's skirt.

 Before he could consider making the first move, Will laid his hand gently over Frederick's, brushing his fingers over the knuckles of it and leaving him before he could decide how to respond or reciprocate. He was gone as suddenly as he'd come, and Frederick set about preparing the salad. It was nothing fancy or requiring of finesse, but it made him proud. It was nice to have something to be proud of, still.

 Will idly stirred the pot of sauce on the stove, nothing fancy and likely from a jar again, but the attempt at cooking made something like affection bloom inside of Frederick, something he still couldn't explain.

 "I've been thinking about what you said," Will said, back still turned as he focused on his task.

 Frederick racked his brain - he'd certainly said a lot of things to Will over the past several whirlwind years, and he hoped whatever what was on the tip of Will's tongue hadn't come to him through bars of a cage.

 "Oh?"

 "Well, two things," Will said, shaking a few dashes of garlic powder in the sauce to try to dress it up. "Wondering what we've been doing."

 His ears perked up further, hoping some light would finally be shed on the way that Will's hands and mouth had taken to mapping his body, unexpected but so surprisingly welcome it caught Frederick in the stomach sometimes.

 "Right. That."

 After a long, quiet release of breath, Will spoke: "I'd gotten used to having someone to stabilize me," he said evenly, without a tentative edge that Frederick might have otherwise expected. It was obvious whom he was referring to, but both of them had the tact to let it sit as a mere implication. "It wasn't real, but it helped in the moment." He cleared his throat now. "There's weakness in being lonely, I suppose, but then again, I never claimed not to be weak."

 The salad was finished, and Frederick envied Will's probably-exaggerated focus on the stovetop, as he was left with nothing to busy himself.

 "I'd argue that the fact that you're still standing here would show something other than weakness," Frederick offered with a shrug, though it sounded a little like a platitude. Will seemed unbothered, though he was silent for several long moments, feigning distraction.

 "Sometimes I can feel it under my skin, you know?" Will asked, though it was clearly rhetorical in nature. Frederick remained silent, watching Will's shoulder blades shift through yet another worn flannel shirt, and wondered if Will knew he was here at all. "Like I'm going to boil over. Like I'm going to be nothing, if I haven't been already."

 Frederick drummed his fingers on the countertop, trying to ground himself in a conversation he found himself wanting to flinch away from. "We both wanted to hide," he said quietly, and it was arguably true to both of them. Will offered no argument.

 "It only goes away when it hurts from outside," Will said, comfortable so long as he was allowed to avoid eye contact. "It only goes away when somebody takes it away from me, makes me put it down."

 He couldn't help himself, couldn't even pretend he wanted to try, and Frederick moved behind him, laying a gentle hand on Will's hip, unsure what his aim was but sure that he needed to touch. "I wouldn't hurt you," he promised.

 It was only then that Will turned to face him, the spaghetti sauce gone ignored and likely soon to bubble. Frederick wasn't used to the ready eye contact that Will fixed him with - rare and sudden.

 "Would you, if I asked you to?"

 Frederick swore he could feel Will's skin through the waistband of his jeans, burning like a furnace to match the even warmth of his words. He swallowed, trying to muster up the idea of confidence that he could do what Will seemed to be asking. Despite his initial reservations, he found himself growing firm between his legs in a way that couldn't strictly be attributed to their close proximity alone. He finally nodded.

 His stomach was dangerously close to growling, tempted by the smell of garlic and the promise of dinner. "Don't you dare burn that," he said, in what would usually be his typical nagging but instead came out in a low, rough command. Will shuddered in what Frederick hoped wasn't fear, and he turned around obediently.

 Soon they dined in silence, Will's eyes downcast at his plate. Predictably, he ate each leaf of arugula with a contemplative slowness before abandoning it all together in favor of twisting strands of spaghetti inexpertly between the tines of his fork. It was vaguely unsettling, though the edge began to soften with a glass of wine in him.

 "Look at me." The words came out quickly, and perhaps harsher than he'd meant, but Will immediately lifted his eyes to meet Frederick's.

 "I'm sorry," Will said quietly. _It's hard for me_. He didn't have to say it, shushing himself before Frederick could do it.

 Frederick abandoned his fork to steeple his fingers, regarding Will with a long, silent look, one that seemed to make Will squirm uncomfortably in his seat at the scrutiny. "How do you want me to hurt you?" He was genuinely curious enough to toe the line, to see just how deeply the darkness went into Will, where it hooked and caught and pulled at him when the walls closed in.

 To his credit, Will didn't let his gaze falter even though it seemed to make his skin crawl. "I - I like to be hit. No visible marks that can't be covered up during the day. No scars, unless I ask otherwise." He swallowed, fingers tightening around his fork. "I'd like to be bitten, scratched, slapped." He let his eyes flutter closed, finally coerced into shame. _Don't make me go on_. "I like to take orders." His voice was small now. "I wouldn't mind if you called me names."

 As his listing continued, it occurred to Frederick that this might be the type of thing Will had thought about, considered for a long time now, perhaps with his own hand curled around his cock, pumping his hips up and into his own grasp, breath coming through his teeth in desperation as he worked himself between his sheets.

 It was almost too much to bear, Frederick thought, and registered that the crotch of his pants had tightened considerably listening to Will's wavering confession. He'd never done anything like this - sure, he'd had lovers who'd wanted him to be rough with them, but they had all been women, and certainly not ones who'd asked so be slapped or bossed around. The idea was exciting, if he could admit to it.

 "Would you tell me to stop if it was too much?" he asked cautiously, worried about being ensnared in something that would overwhelm him.

 "Of course I would." Will finished his last bite of spaghetti, trying to feign a casual air, but Frederick could see his nerves vibrating with apprehension. He could see him worrying his lip where he'd bitten through it on the couch, and he wondered if Will could still taste any trace of blood from the wound at this point.

 Frederick finished the rest of his meal, though the idea of dinner had quickly gone to the back of his mind, crowded out by other, more exciting prospects. Will followed suit, clearly hoping Frederick had more than grocery store pasta on his mind. He looked bashfully at Frederick from across the small table.

 He rose to his feet after a moment, taking the plates to the kitchen. Will rinsed them quietly in the sink, leaving them stacked in the bottom of the sink to be worried over later. Expectation radiated off of Will, and his spine straightened when Frederick followed behind him into the kitchen. He waited to take cues from Frederick. He waited to be _good_.

 But Will hadn't been instructed to do anything yet, so he continued to tidy the kitchen. He covered the salad bowl with a thin, transparent layer of cling wrap, hands shaking only a little as he pulled a taut sheet and tore it off the roll. Frederick watched him without commentary as he put each component of dinner away, waiting for Frederick to instruct or correct him, but it didn't come, even though Will could feel his eyes on him the entire time.

 When he turned back around, Frederick had clearly been watching his movements the entire time.

 "Are you finished?" he asked, and Will nodded, his eyes lowered to the floor as though taking inventory of every shed hair left behind by one of the dogs. "Now, what should I do with you?"

 Will didn't respond, and his eyes remained downcast. His silence irritated Frederick as he remembered this had been entirely Will's idea - specifically, his request for more in the way of harsh treatment. He'd asked to _hurt_.

 "That wasn't a rhetorical question, Will," he murmured gently, stepping closer and effectively  trapping Will in the corner, up against the cabinets. He could see the inner disquiet rolling off of Will in sweeping, crashing waves, and was surprised to find the sight hitting him like a train.

 There appeared to be a battle raging within Will right now, one that he couldn't seem to fight off, perhaps too afraid to ask for what he wanted and perhaps had for a long time. "I - will you hit me?" he asked finally, as at last the silence became unbearable.

 "Where?" The idea was not unappealing.

 He was trembling all over as he stood in front of Frederick, not quite cowering but not quite far from it either. Will gestured to his left cheek, his eyes closed now as though he were ashamed of himself.

 Frederick immediately felt guilty at the idea of slapping Will here, of corrupting the trust Will had placed in him over the last several months, and the idea that he was taking something that maybe wasn't his to twist. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was always someone standing back in the shadows between the two of them - a ghost of sorts. It gave him a chill that raced down his back, one that he resented having been left with even when Hannibal Lecter was able to simply sit and bide his time behind bars.

 Misplaced anger surged through him, possessing him before it was too late, and he reared back and struck Will across the face before he could stop to consider avoiding going this far. The sound was loud in the room, a crack that seemed to startle the closest dog - a skittish little beagle mix that immediately leapt partway up Will's shin to see what was the matter.

 Will offered a pained noise, though there was a underlying moan that made Frederick's stomach twist pleasantly. He seemed to be inwardly reeling for a moment and directed his attention down to his feet as though they suddenly held every answer.

 "Did that hurt?" Frederick asked, thankful he could keep the uncertainty out of his voice and opt for intimidation.

 "Y-yes," Will stammered, his voice meek in a way that Frederick had never heard from him.

 He could see Will shifting from foot to foot, back and forth with tension splashed across his features just as the red mark that Frederick's palm had left there.

 "Is that what you wanted?"

 "Yes."

 Will wrung the fingers of one hand together, as though trying to coerce himself to relax, if even for a moment, and the movement was so tense that Frederick couldn't help himself from leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on the red mark.

 "Do you want more?" He was uncertain this time, wondering if he'd pushed too far.

 There was no uncertainty in Will, and he nodded quickly. "Yes."

 With that, Frederick took the opportunity to slap him again, this time harder, working a soft moan from Will - one that sounded of both pleasure and pain, and Frederick swallowed a thick lump of arousal at the noise. Will seemed to be battling with himself not to rub some of the sting away.

 He then struck the other side of Will's face before he had time to recover, wringing a louder noise of pain from him, before dragging him in by the hair for a sloppy kiss. Will moaned openly against his mouth, clinging to the hem of Frederick's sweater as he fought not to grind against him. Will's cheek was hot in his palm, radiating heat from the force of each slap, and he winced at Frederick's grip before arching into it.

 "I'm going to take your shirt off." Frederick picked open the buttons of the flannel shirt, his fingers remarkably self-assured as he revealed the thin, loved layer of Will's heather gray undershirt. Will made no effort to touch him aside from gripping at the sweater.

 Frederick nudged Will to lift his arms above his head, helping him ease the shirt off and leaving him bare. His curls mussed, and combined with the bashful, pained flush of his cheeks, he looked innocent in ways Frederick hadn't seemed to see on another human being in what felt like eons.

 The urge to make Will bend to his whims, barreled through him, leaving him feeling guilty, as though all of his transformation from the _Dr. Frederick Chilton_ who'd tried so vainly to take Will apart in the hospital, to a relatively normal person with some idea of what it meant to be a _friend_ had been undone through a catastrophic backslide.

 His hands slid up Will's bare sides, soothing with the broadness of his palms before scraping his nails over the pale skin on the way back down. Will bit his lip, trying not to make a sound as Frederick leaned in to brush his lips over his right nipple, but failing miserably as the points of Frederick's teeth sank into it. A rush of air left him, wet and breathy in the silence of the room. Mercifully, the overly concerned beagle had wandered out of the room to see if any food remained in his dish.

 Biting down harder on Will's nipple this time, Frederick hooked a finger in the belt loop of Will's jeans and dragged him in closer. With his other hand, he made quick work of the button and zipper of Will's jeans, sliding them down his skinny hips just enough to expose Will's ass to the cool air of the kitchen.

 "What if I hit you here?" Frederick murmured against the thin, fragile skin in the center of Will's chest, over the hammer of his heart, as he trailed a few gentle fingers over Will's backside. Will's breath audibly caught in his throat, hitching as Frederick pinched him hard there. He bit back a whimper as Frederick pinched him again, relishing in the strained noise it brought from him. "Maybe I ought to make you beg for it."

 "Please," Will exhaled, somehow managing to stand still despite his obvious humiliation. At least Frederick had allowed him the mercy to loosen his pants to pull them down in the back: he could see Will's cock tenting the front of his underwear where they still covered him there, though certainly not leaving much - if anything - to the imagination.

 Wordlessly, Frederick took hold of his wrist and dragged him into the living room, though Will did nothing to resist, simply following as best as he could with his pants newly bunched around his legs.

 He had never been in Will's living room before in the light, having only passed through it in the dark with a stomach full of wine that last time he'd been over. It was cozy and unpretentious, much like the rest of Will's home. A sliver of moonlight lit the room, though just barely enough for Frederick to reach a lamp on the end table that soon bathed the room in soft yellow light.

 Will hovered uncertainly in the room, mostly undressed but unsure where to arrange himself. There was sleet hitting the windows, the only sound in the small room except for the snoring of one of the dogs in the corner.

 It seemed to fall to Frederick to initiate, and he sat down on the couch, allowing himself the one luxury of removing his belt and undoing the button and zipper of his khaki slacks before sitting. He made no further move to undress himself, but motioned for Will to fully remove his pants, leaving him only in socks. It almost stuck him as comical, until he grew distracted by the helpless look on Will's face. His cock was already nearly fully hard, clearly stirred by the promise of further hurt.

 Frederick extended a patient hand to Will, drawing him close and down to lie on his lap. He pulled Will's socks off, casting them down to the floor. He ran a light hand over the curve of Will's ass, petting him gently.

 "Ready?" he asked, suddenly overcome with both the lust of wanting to pry cries loose from Will and the desire to be gentle with him in the way the world never had. He supposed it was an act of mercy to indulge him this way, to get close enough to see the cracks in Will and to exploit them as requested.

 Not trusting himself to speak, Will nodded, eyes fixed on the worn plaid of the sofa. His body jerked when Frederick delivered the first blow, the force and sound of it surprising both of them. Frederick gave him little time to recover between the next two spanks, only pausing to lean down and tenderly kiss the back of his neck.

 Will writhed in his lap, arching despite his best efforts as Frederick slapped him again, getting perverse enjoyment from the way he reddened further with each of the strokes.

 His own hand was starting to ache, but he found himself uncompelled to stop hitting. Will cried out now as Frederick took a break to squeeze a handful of Will's bottom, white handprint fading to a red. The squeeze was light, but that seemed to be all that was required after the way Frederick had hit him.

 Despite the obvious pain of it, Frederick could feel the distinctly hard shape of Will's cock, hot and bare, through the fabric of his own pants. He rocked himself against Frederick's thighs, as though trying to scrounge up some friction. His boldness irked Frederick, earning him two sharp slaps for Frederick's trouble.

 "Who knew you'd get so hard for this?" Frederick mused, a sense of wonder having crept into his voice. He carded his fingers through the curls at the crown of Will's head before tangling and pulling him up to press a kiss to his open, gasping mouth. He nipped at Will's still-tender bottom lip on the pull away. "I bet I could make you come just from this."

 Will remained silent, though his wriggling and soft, wet breaths spoke enough volumes for Frederick not to feel cheated by the lack of response. His ass was on fire where Frederick trailed his fingers over it, admiring his handiwork before slapping Will harder on the edge of him where his hand hadn't reached yet. Will jerked in his lap, biting off a groan. Frederick wondered if there was a wet patch forming on his pants where laid atop him.

 There was an unmistakable handprint now splashed on Will's impossibly pale skin, stark and alarming Frederick briefly before he came crashing out of it with Will's soft, struggling moans as he grabbed a greedy handful. Will slumped further forward, rubbing himself against Frederick's lap. The sensation of Will's cock against his own startled him through the fine fabric of his pants, bringing his own hardness back to his attention.

 "Tell me," Frederick ordered, though not unkindly.

 It seemed to take Will several moments and even more long breaths to gather himself enough to respond.

 "It feels so good," he mumbled, voice muffled and choking on something hard in his throat. "It's what I wanted."

 Frederick slapped him hard, harder than any of the earlier strokes, and Will let out a broken cry, a tremor racing through his too-lean frame. Frederick leaned forward, brushing a paradoxically gentle kiss to the small of Will's back. The sound Will made was jarring - helpless and shaken apart as he struggled to catch his breath. He seemed to have gotten his fill.

 "Never thought about you like this before," Frederick murmured, pressing an almost-chaste kiss to the side of Will's neck as he fought to come back to himself. "I should've seen it, but I didn't." It was the closest either of them had come to matters of the past, and Will seemed not to dare to speak, but the shudder that run through him spoke all of the necessary volumes. "Should've seen this rolling off you in waves."

 With a tremulous sigh, Will buried his face in one hand, biting down on the fleshy part of his palm for a few seconds as though trying to ground himself in the sensation. Frederick watched, mesmerized and still letting his fingers drift across Will's red hot skin in soothing circles. He let his lips brush the skin behind Will's ear.

 "Turn over."

 Will complied after several more struggling moments he spent trying to catch his breath. He rolled over onto his back, wincing at the soreness on his backside as it rubbed against the fine fabric of Frederick's pants - meant to be soft but no match for the spanks that had rained down on him. His cock had not flagged in the time he'd spent battling to catch his breath - quite the opposite, as it still shown with a generous gloss of precome beading at its tip.

 "Jesus," Frederick said, unable to find the words to do the sight justice. The dim yellow glow of the lamp painted Will's skin a gold that betrayed his usual paleness, and Frederick couldn't resist sliding a hand up Will's front from his pelvis up to his throat. His thighs were shaking with the residual pain, and Frederick placed a soft kiss above his sternum. "You took it so well."

 Perhaps it was his job now to tend to Will, to fuss over him in repayment for the pain he'd taken and allowed. Job or not, he knew in his heart of hearts that Will had written him this blank check - within reason - to do, to take, to suit his own whims. It was equal measures of intimidating and thrilling - a permission he would not take lightly.

 "What do you want, Will?" he asked, making sure their eyes remained locked. The curve of Will's bottom lip looked swollen, teased into soreness from where it hadn't quite healed from the previous week. Frederick wondered if Will was the type to worry a wound until it reopened, over and over again. It would seem only fitting.

 In response to the question, Will didn't speak. His lips seemed to flutter open, looking for a response and finding none. His eyes were wide and searching, seemingly unsure what to say to keep himself from squirming under Frederick's scrutiny. "I - " he started, before falling silent again.

 Frederick grasped his chin tightly, digging his fingers into the sore spot where he'd struck Will across the face as requested. He pressed his lips to Will's as though hungry all over again, pushing his tongue in as though to devour. As their lips met he found himself caught off guard by the rush of need that consumed him. He'd never considered himself a physically forceful person, content to push and prod into the mind and leave the body to others. Where he'd been forced to his knees and made unsure of his own ability and knowledge base, he found himself here now savoring the idea that he could still push a seemingly immovable object and find some give in it.

 "Or maybe I'm to assume that you'd gotten what you wanted and leave it at that," he murmured, breaking away and feeling an inward twitch of satisfaction as Will tried to chase his lips. He splayed the fingers of one hand on Will's upper thigh, admiring the way Will tried to find friction.

 "No, no," Will exhaled, adjusting in Frederick's lap and hissing quietly at having his sore skin jostled.

 "Then you're going to make me work it out of you?" Frederick asked, _tsk_ ing and drumming his fingertips briefly on the shaky thigh. "I thought I was the one in charge here, but how can I be if I'm stuck being a mind reader?" Teasing Will was a satisfying endeavor, finding him lost for words and floundering as he wrapped one loose hand around his cock. Will let out a low moan, involuntarily jerking up into his grip. "If you remember your manners, you might end up getting what you want," he urged, slowly dragging his curled fingers from base to tip and pushing back down, giving Will something to vainly push into.

 He could feel Will shaking in his lap as he strokes continued, watching his mouth drop open before trusting himself to speak. "Would you - would you please go down on me?" he gasped out, as though surprised at the hoarse sound of his own voice.

 The request caught him off guard. He loved to be on the receiving end, a woman knelt between his splayed knees with painted lips around him, the wet mouth of the younger man in the wine bar - a memory for a later, rainy day, brought out and studied over. And of course, now, the memory of Will on his sore knees in the kitchen after dinner, looking up at him through impossible eyelashes, wet with involuntary tears as his throat opened for Frederick.

 For a moment, the idea of being on the giving end intimidated him. He'd always hated learning on the fly without prior expectation, that fear of being found wanting and small and inadequate as he struggled to adapt. Bad memories from his early endeavors, he supposed.

Still, the idea of reducing Will to weak whimpers excited him, gave him a pleasant, sudden twist in what remained of his gut. From what he gathered, Will's experience seemed to be as limited as his own, and it comforted him. He kissed Will again, swiping his tongue across Will's and stealing some of his breath.

 "Of course," he agreed, leaning back and coaxing Will off of his lap and back against the couch cushions. If the fibers of the cushions bothered the pain in his backside, he gave no indication. "Was that so difficult?"

 Will shook his head silently, and Frederick supposed he ought to allow him the mercy of not expecting words. He appeared to be warring with himself to hold still, and Frederick dug his nails into the thin skin of his hip, making him softly moan and wriggle.

 He shifted himself down onto his elbows, finding the movement unpleasant on his stomach where his scar still pained him at times with unfamiliar exertion, but still lying there between Will's legs.

 "Relax."

 The moment seemed to slow as Frederick steadied him with a broad hand to each of his hips, circling the furthest protrusion of the bones with the pads of his thumbs in a sweeping circle. He leaned in, letting Will's cock barely rub against his lips. Will let a shaky, low sound so quiet he almost wondered if he'd heard it at all. He wanted more, wanted to be the reason that Will cried out as he had in his office earlier. All in good time. The urgency had gone.

 "Want you," Will gasped, air leaving his lungs in a rush. " - want you so much."

 Frederick wondered if Will realized what he was saying, wondered fleetingly why anyone could bother wanting him - scarred beyond repair, hobbling half of the time, ever-snobby and petulant at best, but it also occurred to him that Will had been denied so many times the basic common courtesy of anything the world might offer to a _normal_ person that to deprive him here would be the worst possible betrayal.

 Now he kissed the tip of Will's cock, tasting the thin sheen of fluid that had already left him, familiar with the taste from women who'd kissed him afterward but still blushing at the implication of what he was about to do. He parted his lips, taking the lead of Will's cock into his mouth.

 With a soft gasp, Will raised one hand and sank his teeth into the skin of his knuckles, and Frederick felt a twinge of empathy for the way that his teeth left indentations there. He swiped a circle with the tip of his tongue around the slick head, enjoying the stilted noise it provoked from Will with the upward jerk of his hips. He held Will's hips tighter, letting his hands drift around to squeeze the battered flesh.

 It surprised him how well he took to the motion, how eager he was to please Will here, and slid his mouth further down Will's cock. He was relieved to have had the foresight to undo his own pants before settling in on the couch, but the untouched pressure of his underwear felt oppressive and unwelcome. This was a reward for Will, most certainly, but he found himself longing for touch of his own.

 It was less daunting here in practice, in large part due to the desperate noises of enjoyment Will was making, squirming and clearly wanting more contact as though pleased with Frederick's technique. He licked gently along the underside of Will's cock, feeling a stray trail of spittle leave the corner of his mouth. Frederick freed one hand from Will's back to brush it aside with the back of it before letting the hand return.

 Holding Will in place gave him the advantage of setting the pace himself, to wring small gasps out of him with each passing motion of his tongue, and he wondered just how much Will would lose himself if not pressed into the couch cushions. His skin was so hot.

 Will's eyes wandered down to meet Frederick's, allowing out a gasped sound that seemed punched out of him in the process. Frederick snaked one hand around, giving Will the silent permission he needed to twist their fingers together as though needing further grounding. He seemed afraid he might float away, dissolve into pieces, somehow cease to exist.

 The moment was fleeting, and Will let his head fall backwards. Frederick gave a particularly pronounced suck. It gave him pause.

 "I like it when you look at me, Will," Frederick said, his voice what would be a warning if his voice wasn't hoarse now. Will looked down reflexively, giving an obedient nod, and Frederick returned to busying himself, allowing a comforting grip on Will's hand. He could see the fingers of Will's other hand tightly clenching in the couch cushion.

 Tonight seemed to be all about pushing, and he gently nudged Will's thighs wider apart to settle further lower down, letting his tongue drift down across the now-taut skin of Will's balls, rolling his tongue over them with admittedly sloppy attention. If the technique wasn't perfect, Will gave no indication of criticism.

 Emboldened, Frederick pushed his thighs still farther apart, letting his tongue lave over the soft, hidden skin of his perineum. Will's breath was now a garbled choke of syllables, one with no discernible content except that Will was unraveling here under his mouth. He pressed harder with his tongue, savoring the way that Will tried to rock back more insistently against his lips and tongue.  

 He'd never gone this far before, almost ever-cautious prior to finding himself here, laid low on his ruined belly on Will Graham's couch with tufts of dog hair undoubtedly burrowing further into his respiratory system with each passing second. It seemed inconsequential and faraway to him now, blocked from his mind by the way Will gave a wordless exclamation as his tongue wandered lower, touching lightly to the wrinkled, hidden skin of Will's entrance.

 Frederick leaned back, offering a few humid breaths against the most intimate part of him. Will made a needy sound, now greedy and shameless in the way he pushed back against his mouth.

 "Oh, _fuck_ ," he gasped, brought back to wordlessness as Frederick's tongue returned, circling him patiently now, surprising himself with the lack of fear he showed to the exploration. Frederick wasn't sure where the idea had come from, one that might disgust him in a past life when he considered where his mouth currently was. "That feels so - it feels amazing."

 With the offered encouragement, Frederick pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Will, letting a flat pass of his tongue follow over his hole, leaving him spit-slick before returning. He still held Will's hand flat against one thigh with their fingers tangled together, but he made no effort to correct Will when his other hand went to his cock as though almost involuntarily, stroking himself without regard to shame or instruction.

 "You - you're going to make me come," he said pleadingly, hand moving fast on himself as Frederick pressed in with the tip of his tongue, further than he'd intended but encouraged by the broken cry it brought from Will. He offered a few more patient licks before leaning away.

 "Stop it. Don't come without me," he said, letting the statement come out as a direct order. "Let me catch up, hmm?"

 A dismayed noise came from deep in Will's chest as Frederick rose up to his hands, and Frederick regarded him with a bemused smirk that betrayed the beating of enjoyment and anticipation that had welled inside of him. He was sitting up now, leaning back and working his own pants down around his ankles before kicking them and his shoes and socks away from the two of them, with only a fleeting thought to the fact that at least one of the dogs would probably end up lying down on them and rumpling them beyond repair. He wondered if Will had ever even touched an iron.

 He left his shirt on, allowing himself the luxury of undoing a couple of the top buttons, though only the very top of his chest hair was visible now due to his undershirt. He had already been unraveled in front of Will here on the couch, in the kitchen, in the offices were they both hid from a campus full of spies in throwback early 90's fashions they hadn't been alive for and Greek pledge shirts, pointing Snapchats and Instagram Lives and all that other bullshit Freddie Lounds gave them beer money for.

 The scar was a level of scrutiny he would not allow, couldn't even though Will had seen the lowest, softest parts of him he'd shown to another person in years, if ever. The idea of it made him sick.

 If he noticed, Will had the grace not to let on, simply letting Frederick coax him up to sit halfway up against a few throw pillows.

 There was no apprehension left in him, not now that Will had had the decency to avoid the way his shirt hadn't left him, and he climbed into Will's lap, slotting their hips together. Will let out a soft, needy sigh, feeling their cocks pressed hard against one another. Frederick sealed his mouth to Will's, neither of them blanching at the idea of where his mouth had been moments before.

 "You're so good, Will," Frederick soothed, wrapping an assured hand around the two of them, stroking their cocks together as he knotted his other hand in the curls at the back of Will's head. Will panted, kissing him with abandon, allowing Frederick to take his pleasure, and to drag Will's with it. " - letting me take you apart like that, _Jesus Christ_ \- "

 The praise seemed to spark a whole new response in Will, clutching at Frederick and bucking his hips against him. Their teeth nearly clacked together when Will surged against him, kissing either to silence him or provoke lower, baser noises from him. Precome dribbled freely from him, down across Frederick's knuckles, and Frederick imagined there was little time left and finding himself not far behind.

 Using the hand holding Will's hair, Frederick tilted Will's head to the side, exposing the expanse of his neck before skating his teeth over it, biting down a little more roughly than he'd meant to when Will groaned, needy at the sharp feel of his canines.

 Seeing the splash of color that bloomed where his teeth had left made Frederick surge forward into his own grip, catching him off guard when he came across his hand and down Will's still-hard cock. He sagged against Will for a few moments, not unaware of the way that Will squirmed, hoping his own arousal hadn't gone forgotten, or worse, ignored entirely.

 Frederick composed himself as much as possible, though it was little, and fastened his teeth now to Will's collarbone, remembering the way he liked to be bitten there. When his teeth felt nearly pressed together with Will's pale skin clenched between them, he resumed his now-patient strokes.

 "Do you think I ought to let you come?" he asked hotly, knowing the answer but wanting to pull it from Will.

 "I - if you think so," Will stammered, wanting to plead but correcting himself at the last moment. It was an answer so good that it made Frederick lean in, kissing him patiently on the lower lip. Will panted against his mouth still, feeling his lip nipped and teased. "I want to but if you - if you don't - if you think I was bad - " His voice was uncertain, pleading for assistance.

 Frederick shifted atop him, beginning to soften but unwilling to let the sensation go just yet, and taking pity on Will. He resumed slow, almost torturously paced strokes of Will's erection against his cock, making Will whimper in desperation. He spread his own come down Will's cock, enjoying the sight of marking Will with himself, knowing the sheer filth of it was not lost on Will. Will's eyes were trained down at his own lap, watching Frederick stroke him.

 "You can come, Will. I want to see it," he murmured, not having the heart to play into Will's hand, to tell him he'd been _bad_ in hopes of humbling him. It was a level of hurt he couldn't deal in yet, not after everything that he'd taken and used to his own advantage what felt like decades ago.

 It was the only permission Will needed, nerves frayed from so much time teetering on edge, and he let out a bitten, sobbing cry when he came, furthering the mess between the two of them, a few stray drops marking Frederick's long-rumpled shirt. He kissed Frederick desperately, nearly sobbing against his mouth as he fought in vain to compose himself. The unbearable strain of holding still, of being _obedient_ had clearly taken their toll, and he slumped back against the stack of nearly flattened throw pillows with his head tipped up.

 They allowed their breathing to slow, occasionally trading lazy kisses, all technique or finesse or semblance of composure gone to the wayside. When their bodies had cooled uncomfortable, Will gently worked himself free from underneath Frederick, getting to his feet.

 "We ought to clean up," he suggested, not appearing uncomfortable though clearly floundering under what the expectation was now. The last time Frederick had been here with him, he'd fled the next morning at the first hint of morning light. "I think I ought to shower," he added. It was true, and Frederick wouldn't argue with the idea of not crawling into bed next to someone with a drying sheen of sweat and the stink of sex. "I was thinking we could do it separately if you - "

 It was then that Frederick realized that Will's eyes were trained on the shirt, clearly now taking inventory of the fact that he'd made no move to strip it off, and Frederick could feel his cheeks burn hotly with the shame of it. For a moment, the only sound was the still-rapid flurry of sleet hitting the windows, angrier and more insistent now.

 "Might be a good idea," Frederick said, feigning ease, glad that Will could be charitable enough to spare him the illusion of privacy, as though he somehow had no idea what ugliness drew its way so precisely down his front. It was a courtesy he felt he scarcely deserved, but accepted readily, perhaps out of cowardice.

 Will gave him a thoughtful, contained smile, leaning down to kiss him again on the mouth as though afraid it would be unwelcome or met with disdain. "Meet you upstairs?" he asked, looking over his shoulder on the way out of the living room, the red splashes of color still angry and stark against the white skin of his backside and a small hitch in each step. Frederick smiled to himself, feeling a slight, fleeting pang of guilt at his own satisfaction upon admiring his own handiwork before allowing himself to relax.

 -

This time, Will had allowed Frederick to link their hands together at bedtime, had even gone so far as to press a small, furtive kiss to the curve of Frederick's jaw before laying his cheek on Frederick's chest as he drifted off to sleep. Frederick laid on the flat of his back staring at the ceiling for a long stretch of time he couldn't measure, trying to will himself to relax enough to sleep in a bed that was unfamiliar to him without a winding river of wine in his blood.

 For his part, Will seemed to sleep easily through the night, and Frederick quietly envied him.

 It surprised him again to find himself alone in bed the next morning, sunlight streaming in with a brightness that could likely only be attributed to the presence of what was likely to be a blanket of snow or a sheet of ice outside. One of the dogs was snoring on the pillow Will had previously occupied, feet all over it without regard to the fact that Will would probably sleep on it again without washing it. Frederick made a disdainful noise, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he tried to blink sleep from them. His limbs felt looser this morning, relaxed in ways he hadn't in longer than he cared to consider.

 He expected to find Will in the kitchen preparing coffee again, making some other type of egg dish that lacked creativity but redeemed itself in taste and practicality. The thought of it was oddly domestic, reassuringly so, and he smiled despite himself. Something in his life that felt easy often proved itself to be the opposite.

 He pulled on a pair of threadbare socks will had loaned him when he'd groused about his feet being cold in bed, never mind the fact that he'd still kicked them off in the middle of the night during his fitful sleep. Will had also loaned him a pair of flannel pajama pants that were oversized on Will's too-lean frame. For his own part, Frederick's weight had remained frustratingly the same even though he felt he had no say in having to deprive himself of the finer, protein-rich meals he'd indulged himself in without thought before _everything_ had taken it from him.

 After brushing his teeth - glad that Will had clearly taken note of his oversight the last time Frederick had stayed over and subsequently bought him a toothbrush - he shuffled downstairs to see if there was a breakfast option available.

 To his surprise, Will was nowhere to be found in the kitchen, though it was positively frigid when he entered. Frederick glanced around suspiciously, nerves prickling, and surging even further when he found the kitchen door leading to the back porch thrown wide open and thoughtlessly left. A smattering of snow was on the doormat, clearly blown in by the winter winds.

 He bristled in fear, wondering if this was a waking variation of his nightmares where he was finally ferreted out, found and made to pay for his past crimes - any and all of them. Frederick was afraid.

 Frederick forced himself to scan the surroundings outside of the door, convincing himself he'd rather see anyone approaching to harm him than to be caught off guard by it. Snow still whirled in the air, coming down heavily to where so much of it had already accumulated in the meadow behind Will's modest little home. There were icicles of an intimidating size hanging down from the overhang of the porch - for once, reports of a winter storm seemed perfectly founded.

 And in the middle of all of it, Will stood with his back to the house in the center of the meadow, clad only in his pajamas. He didn't move.

 "Christ," Frederick said abruptly, sliding his feet into a pair of boots that Will had left by the back door that immediately felt too small, but were the only option. He pulled his own coat on, which he'd abandoned on the back of a kitchen chair the night before, and stomped out into the snow. He tried to yell Will's name, but the rushing whip of the wind was too loud, and it was hopeless.

 Will still did not move.

 When he reached Will's side, boots soon becoming sodden and clumsy with snow and ice, it was apparent that Will was in no position to move: though he stood solidly on his two feet, his eyes were closed. Frederick stood as though frozen himself. He looked down to find Will's feet only in the thick wool socks he remembered from bedtime the night before, long soaked in snow and likely freezing. Will was nonplussed.

 "Will," Frederick said, trying to make his voice heard over the windstorm without coming across as a threat, but there was no response. He stepped in closer, laying a patient hand to Will's wrist, finding the skin impossibly cold to the touch. "Will, wake up."

 There was a generous gathering of snow in Will's hair, and some of it shook loose when Will's head jerked as his eyes snapped open, falling down into his lashes. He looked taken aback to find himself, immediately shuddering.

 "I'm - what?" he asked, clearly confused as he blinked sleep from his eyes.

 Frederick had certainly heard all the nitty gritty of Will's sleepwalking habits, but had also heard that these had come and gone with the treatment for his encephalitis, and Will had certainly never made mention of such things after they'd reunited over their modest mealtimes. It seemed like the kind of thing that might merit a discussion, even only as a curiosity. Today, Will seemed baffled by it - horrified, even.

 Affection bloomed inside of him, though he'd never admit it to Will, knowing it'd be chalked up to pity, and he placed a gentle hand around the curve of Will's elbow, at least dressed in a thick, ragged FBI sweatshirt Will wore to bed in the winter, too sentimental to get rid of it, as he'd confessed the night before. Will didn't speak, just blinked helplessly.

 "Come inside, hmm?" Frederick encouraged, leading him back across the meadow before Will could offer assent or argument. "That's it," he added, the way to might to a skittish animal. "That's good." His own toes were cold, and if so, he couldn't imagine the way that Will's felt. There were still visible footprints in the dense layer of snow - perhaps hadn't been out there for long, but he knew Will would have no insight into the length of time.

 When they reached the house, Frederick coaxed him inside with a patience he had never considered he might possess, a gentle hand between his shoulders, feeling the flakes of snow that began to melt as soon as they entered the house.

 Will shivered violently in the kitchen, trembling all over but unable to make himself take pains to correct his temperature.

 Wordlessly, he let Frederick lean down and pull the soaked socks off, casting them to the side. Frederick made a wincing sound of sympathy to find Will's feet reddened and cold to the touch, and rubbed his hands gently over them without pausing to consider his general disgust for anything coming close to feet. Will's eyes were dazed, and he made no move to speak, just teetered now as Frederick lifted each of his feet, kneading the skin to try to coax back some feeling.

 "You're all right, Will," Frederick murmured in a manner he hoped would be found soothing. He slid his hands up Will's legs, rubbing up and down his thighs before standing. Their eyes met as Frederick coaxed his arms up, helping him out of his soaked sweater and woefully thin t-shirt, leaving his torso bare and smattered in goosebumps. "Get you out of all this wet stuff, right?" He'd never been one for small talk, but he worried that Will was seconds from collapse, and allowed himself the concession.

 Frederick found a large, worn towel hanging on one of the coat hooks by the back door, clearly used for any number of wet dogs in its too-long shelf life, and he wrapped it around Will's shoulders, drying him off and trying to warm him at the same time. He hoped the damage hadn't yet been done, remembering his skills were certainly rusty in this arena. _Those who can't do medicine end up trying to teach psychiatry_. He chased the thought from his mind.

 The extent of Will's shakes distracted Frederick momentarily, but he now found that Will's bottom lip was bleeding again where he'd begun to worry it as soon as they'd made the walk back across the meadow and into the house. He paid it no mind, and only seemed to notice when Frederick blotted the blood away with the corner of the well-loved towel.

 "Will - " he tried, but any words he might have come up with died on his lips. There was little to say. He patted at Will's bottom lip where more blood had welled up to replace what he'd already blotted up.

 When they made eye contact again, he found a tired desperation in Will's eyes that almost frightened him, as though any life had been drained from the man he'd now begun sharing a bed with more than he had with anyone else in years. He closed his eyes as though unable to bear meeting Frederick's.

 "This isn't - this wasn't supposed to happen anymore," he said finally, hands still as his sides. "I don't - " It was his turn to be speechless, wavering on his near-frozen feet with wetted hair and lip that wouldn't stop bleeding. Frederick rubbed a gentle thumb across the small, gnawed cut, uncaring about the blood he'd find there.

 He leaned in, laying a gentle kiss to Will's lips, unsure what to say but wanting to help with an empathy he hadn't felt for anyone but his students in longer than he cared to admit.

 "There will be time to figure it out," he soothed as best as he could manage, never one to be complimented on his bedside manner. He ran his hands up Will's bare back, feeling the too-pronounced ridge of his spine. "Let's get you in the shower. It'll make you feel better." Frederick leaned forward, kissing the spot behind his right ear as he continued to rub Will's back.

 Will didn't speak, simply allowing himself to be led again. When they arrived in the bathroom, Frederick stood behind him as Will surveyed his reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark hollows under his eyes and the angry redness of his nose and cheeks, ravaged by the cold and the unrelenting wind. There was disgust splashed across his features, the most emotion he'd been able to show thus far in the morning.

 His eyes met Frederick's in the mirror, and it occurred to Frederick that he was sharing the most intimate of spaces this morning: a room with Will Graham and his thoughts. He placed a gentle hand on Will's hip, feeling the wet, soaked drape of the fabric of his pajama pants. He laid another gentle kiss to the side of Will's neck, not daring to speak.

 "I ought to leave you to it," Frederick said hesitantly, taking his hand back, knowing Will's privacy had become his foremost prized possession these days, and hating the idea of being another on the list of those trying to wrestle it away from him.

 Will sighed heavily for a moment, catching Frederick's hand again before he could turn away to leave the room. "Stay with me?" he asked, making no move to take the rest of his clothes off despite the fact that the weight of them would do nothing to warm him up.

 "Certainly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for indulging me in almost 10,000 words of smut; this is currently my favorite thing I'm playing around with right now!  
> And again, thanks so much for reading, and thanks for your kind feedback!  
> Title of this chapter is from Jeremih - oui, which has been my jam of the month so far.


	4. called all your names; they echoed down for miles and miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The space for comfort is not always readily accessible.

Will had blessedly managed the amount of tact it had taken not to invite Frederick into the shower with him, electing not to share the steam and his time alone with the racing of his mind, but Frederick didn't have the heart to leave the bathroom for fear of abandoning Will when he might be needed. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet, waiting as requested, looking down at his hands after he'd already read the labels of all of the products sitting on the edge of the sink.

 The previous night, Will seemed to have showered in the blink of an eye, seemingly done before Frederick had finished toweling off his own hair. This morning, though, it seemed that he was either savoring the long minutes in the hot spray, or trying to muster up the nerve to face whatever might be waiting when he emerged from behind the curtain.

 Frederick didn't budge, even though he spent much of wait worrying over what to say.

 When he heard the water stop flowing, he sat up straighter, hoping not to come off as shaken. He could hear Will let out a resigned sigh before pulling the curtain back.

 His dark hair was wet and plastered to his forehead, and he briefly clenched his hands into fists. It seemed he had spent much of his time in the shower rubbing at his skin, his chest and shoulders looking uncomfortably reddened with slender trails where his fingers had been. Will seemed to take a moment to steel his resolve before looking up from the floor to meet Frederick's eyes.

 There was a terse silence for a few split seconds before Frederick got to his feet, picking a dry towel off a hook on the back door in the only gesture he could come up with to be helpful. He cleared his throat expectantly as Will stepped out of the bathtub. Will held out his hand for the towel, perhaps not wanting to be helped in an effort to save his own pride. Frederick made no effort to argue.

 Now Will seemed content to ignore his own reflection for the time being, taking pains to dry himself and only wincing a little when he rubbed the towel across his sore backside.

 Frederick uncomfortably cleared his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?"

 "No," Will said, quickly and easily, and indelicately rubbed the towel in his hair the way he might with one of his dogs. His mouth was set in a firm, unhappy line. "There was a lot of snow out there. Probably wouldn't be safe for you to try to get out." From anyone else, it might sound like a come-on, something some talentless pornographer might come up with in a feeble attempt at exposition before the vulgarity began, but from Will it was merely an observation - an accurate one, at that.

 "I hope that isn't an inconvenience for you," Frederick said, surprised to find himself trying to be delicate and polite in a way that had felt foreign to him for many years before he'd begun sharing his evenings with Will Graham. If his past self could only see him now, Frederick mused inwardly.

 "Of course not," Will told him, sounding truthful though Frederick still felt a small pulse of guilt.

 It occurred to him that Will hadn't brought any clothes with him to the shower, and he passed Will a borderline-dingy bathrobe that had also been hanging on the hook. Will pulled it around himself, face still betraying no emotion but disdain that appeared to be turned toward himself.

 "Why don't you go back to sleep?" Frederick suggested, though he knew it would take a miracle for Will to fall back asleep at this point, especially now that he seemed to be turning to step backward over and over in his mind. There were circles under his eyes, and they appeared to be having difficulty holding their own lids up. "Or at least lie down?"

 Will regarded him skeptically.

 With an insistence that surprised him, Frederick extended a hand, and was even further surprised when Will took it. His palm was warm from the heat of the shower, a development Frederick was pleased by. Will allowed himself to be led to the bedroom, where the sleeping dog had mercifully vanished from where he or she had been sprawled on the pillow at Will's side of the bed.

 He rummaged in Will's drawers, finding a pair of dark gray long underwear and a long sleeved navy blue t-shirt, knowing Will wouldn't care what he chose as long as it was warm. He tried not to stare as Will shrugged out of the bathrobe, letting it pool uncaringly at his feet. When he turned to the side, Frederick could see that his backside was still reddened, even purpled in some spots, and a quiet sense of horror washed over him as Will calmly stepped into the pants and pulled them up.

 "Are you hurt?" Frederick asked, selfishly seeking reassurance.

 There was a pause as Will pulled the shirt over his head. "Not in any way I didn't ask to be," he said, as good an answer as any. He sighed and sat on the edge of the foot of the bed, allowing his head to hang for a moment before looking up, forcing himself to meet Frederick's eyes. The sheets were rumpled and he leaned back, shimmying up to rest his wet hair against the pillow, clearly unbothered by it getting wet.

 "You look tired," Frederick mused, hovering awkwardly at the foot of the bed as though hoping Will might give him permission to escape.

 Will made no move to disagree. "I doubt you slept much better," he countered, though there was no fight in his voice. He was right, to a degree - Frederick couldn't remember the last time he'd had a night of sleep that was as satisfying as it had been in his past life. There was no thread count that could keep his REM cycle free of bloodstains these days.

 "I slept well enough," Frederick deferred. "You get some rest."

 For a moment he wondered if Will might ask him to stay, but such a request didn't come. Will closed his eyes and seemed to swallow a lump in his throat. Despite his expectations, Will's breath seemed to slow into a comfortable, even pattern, and his limbs loosened.

 Frederick worried over what the proper course of action would be here, wondering if he should excuse himself in a haste so as to avoid being an unwelcome presence. If he was uncomfortable, Will gave no indication, and his features slackened enough to allow that even breath out in long, sleepy exhalations.

 The comforter was bunched around Will's feet where he'd declined to pull it over himself when he climbed into bed, and Frederick found himself still fighting down the fear that Will might somehow succumb to frostbite as a result of his slumbering expedition into the deepening snow. He compulsively pulled the well-loved blanket up over Will's body, tucking it around his shoulders. Will made no acknowledgement of the movement, clearly asleep - at least, for now.

 With Will soundly asleep, and completely in a way that contained no fitfulness for the moment, Frederick contemplated how to occupy his time.

 He turned and walked from the room, seeing himself down the stairs and to the entryway by the front door. There was a slight chill in the house, perhaps from an overlooked draft, and he wished his family hadn't put the fear of God into him about touching someone's thermostat without permission early on in life.

 Frederick cracked the front door open, taken aback by the burst of frigid air that seeped in immediately. Snow was piled up high enough that opening the storm door would require a forceful shove to attempt to free himself. It wasn't worth the awkwardness that would result from excusing himself while Will slept. Besides, he'd already indulged himself with enough cowardice when it came to morning-afters here in Wolf Trap.

 There were at least two dogs watching him expectantly when he turned back to the living room, resigned to be snowbound with at least a half dozen creatures while Will slept none the wiser. He wondered if they could sense his guilt at his own briefly-entertained idea of flight out into the snow, never to be seen again.

 In truth, the idea of leaving was unpleasant even beyond the idea of trying to fight with the snowy roads and possibility of an untimely demise without the mercy of the ice - there was something comforting about the idea of Will tenuously, delicately asleep in the bedroom and possibly needing attention. It felt foreign to care again, if he ever had in the first place, and it both startled and minutely intrigued him.

 One of the dogs was a wiry, strawberry blond terrier with four white paws - a female, judging by the pink collar. It made Frederick smile to imagine Will agonizing in the pet store over what collar to buy a new addition. She seemed restless, pacing from side to side as the two of them made eye contact. She had a docked tail that bobbed up and down, and it made Frederick wonder if this one was silly enough to not recognize how little he enjoyed the companionship of animals.

 While the other dog by her side had the decency to go rummage in an oversized wicker basket for a tennis ball or something to chew on before retreating to an equally oversized dog bed, the terrier took a quick, inquisitive series of steps toward him before jumping up to his knees.

 "Get down," he tried to order, but she refused to take no for an answer until Frederick reluctantly scratched behind her ears as a last ditch effort to make her take the hint to leave. Even so, she remained directly in front of him as though desperate for attention.  "Go on - go away!"

 What kinds of things were you supposed to say to dogs to let them know their presence was no longer wanted? Frederick scarcely knew how to speak to a human these days. He kicked himself inwardly for feeling outsmarted by yet another breed of living creature.

 He busied himself by wandering into the kitchen, noticing that Will had seven ceramic dishes in the mudroom off of it that were markedly empty. None of them were marked with distinction, but it was apparent they each belonged to a dog, as though even a dog required something solely of his or her own in the world.

 Knowing that they were milling about the house placed an unusually prescient amount of strain on him, never one to deprive another of food if it came from an earnest place of integrity. Frederick sighed resignedly and searched until he found a staggeringly sized container of dry dog food sitting beside the door. Knowing his own university salary, Frederick balked to imagine how much of Will's went to kibble to feed his roving band of strays.

 Still, he felt guilty to imagine the idea of all of these animals wondering when their next meal would arrive while their master slept longer than normal, forced by Frederick's own persistence.

 He opened the container and used the small plastic cup to dip out a serving of dog food for each bowl, trying to navigate around the fact that each dog seemed to hear the sprinkling of kibble each time one single piece would hit upon the ceramic and come running. It was a longer undertaking than he had expected, and the seven of them seemed transfixed when he was finished.

 At least this might buy him some time. He sneaked out the door and returned to the living room.

 Frederick glanced around, taking in his surroundings now that he had time. Plaid seemed to be the overarching theme, found here in spades, though none of them quite matched. It made him smile, however tight, to remember the contrast between this room and that of the open, clean sprawl of his house before he'd sold it, unable to get the vision of gore out of his mind since the first time he'd dared unlock the door after _All of It_.

 There was little to do other than sink to the couch, still hearing each dog finishing his or her meal.

 As soon as he'd settled onto the sofa, the terrier mix scampered into the living room, leaping onto it. She seemed impatient for whatever Frederick might do to entertain her, licking at the rounded point of his jaw and planting her paws firmly in the center of his chest.

 It alarmed him sometimes when anyone dared enter his orbit, particularly when it was Will Graham or anything he held dear.

 In a turn of events that came as a surprise, he found himself scratching at the dog's lower back, between her hips, and she arched into the movement, continuing to lick ardently at his face. Frederick sighed, wondering how much dog dander would burrow under his nails before he might feel overcome with some type of allergy.

 If he was going to be stuck here, it occurred to Frederick that he ought to at least make himself comfortable. The terrier seemed to agree as she finally lost interest in licking his face off, lying down with her head mashed against his chest as he fished among the couch cushions for the television remote.

 Frederick supposed he shouldn't count it as a surprise that Will didn't have cable, nor any sort of streaming service, and for a moment it made him smile to imagine the disdain of their students' voices - _uh yeah, obviously Professor Graham doesn't know how to Netflix and chill, or Hulu-and- do-you_ \- a sentiment he only knew based on the way that the basketball team seemed to only speak in _memes_ (whatever that nonsense was) in the back row of his modestly-attended eight AM lecture. He wondered if he would ever have the competitive edge of someone savvy to the whims of his students, before resigning himself to the fact that it would be highly unlikely.

 Still, he browsed the sparse channels available through antenna television, resisting the urge to sniff in disdain before settling on Antiques Roadshow. The public access station seemed proud to advertise it as a marathon, and he balked to find himself at least relieved to be spared some type of even-lesser programming until Will woke up again.

 It felt oddly comforting to settle into the routine of watching television like this, even with the sensation of the lanky, stray-life scarred dog resting against his chest and the steady splatter of sleet against the windowpanes. His eyelids grew heavy despite his own resistance.

 "Oh, for Christ's sake," he murmured, hearing a hopeful Roadshow participant opining about how he had heard that the vase he'd brought originated from somewhere-or-other in the British empire before being revealed as pseudo-heirloom piece from mid-century Sears. It gave Frederick a quick rush of validation that he'd sniffed it out before the mere forty dollar price tag was revealed. "Moron."

 There was little time to indulge himself in criticism he now shied away from before his eyes dipped closed, his head tilting back against the modestly-priced cushions of the couch. It had been so long since he'd napped without the assistance of a prescribed aid, and it happened so quickly he didn't have the time to feel grateful for it.

 His mind swam pleasantly, absent of the typical worries that hung like cobwebs in the corners of his mind in its waking moments. Perhaps it was the sensation of dozing this way - sitting up with some needy dog nuzzled against his chest through a paltry layer of t-shirt. He didn't have the presence of mind to question it.

 Frederick dreamed of nothing but the sight of Will, standing in the middle of a limitless, snow-soaked meadow, turning to him with snowflakes impossibly formed and singular on each strand of his eyelashes, eager and pleased to see him as he approached with each passing footstep. He felt warm enough that it didn't occur to his rational mind to wonder what he was wearing in the dream, what would keep him feeling cocooned and at peace even in a blustering snowstorm. It was light outside in the dream, even though the sun itself seemed nowhere to be found, and Will's smile was both tentative and everywhere, unmistakable in its lightness -

 A handful of fingertips closed around the curve of his thinly-clothed shoulder, and he immediately startled, a bitten yelp escaping him as he came abruptly awake and surged off the couch with an aborted shouted. His eyes flew open in distress, scrambling to find the source of the hand, praying he didn't find the cold, flat eyes of someone painfully familiar in his nightmares staring down at him.

 Instead, he found Will, eyes unaffected but hand still curled around his shoulder. His heart pounded violently in his chest, and he wondered if it was nearly audible in the silence of the room, save for the ongoing din of a hapless Midwesterner trying to find value in a folksy family heirloom or two.

 Frederick's abrupt awakening seemed to have chased the lonely terrier off of his chest, though she continued to cower in the further corner of the sofa, too hopeful for affection to abandon him entirely. His breath came in desperate gasps, trying to force oxygen into him but somehow failing almost entirely.

 "I didn't mean to scare you," Will said, his voice still gravely with the rasp of sleep. It was dimmer outside than it had been when he'd fallen asleep on the couch in the early morning hours, perhaps flirting with the edge of dusk. Frederick's neck was sore where his head had slumped backwards. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fallen asleep on a sofa when he wasn't sprawled out with Xanax and grapes in his bloodstream.

 He blinked for a few beats, trying to focus and clear his mind of the fear that had clutched him by the unexpected presence of Will's hand on his shoulder. "I - it's inevitable," he offered hoarsely. It was a level of honesty he found himself unaccustomed to dealing in. Frederick rubbed at his eyes, trying to shake away the vestiges of sleep.

 "Right," Will said simply, rounding the couch and coming down to sit beside him. Frederick wondered how long he had been asleep. The bags under Will's eyes seemed slightly less pronounced than usual, which Frederick counted as a victory.

 They sat in a companionable silence, a silence with a descriptor Frederick would never would have guessed would've applied to one shared with Will Graham.

 The television buzzed with mindless anecdotes of vases and tin toys from another era, and Frederick felt his heart rate return to its normal pace with each moment of pleasant monotony. Will gave a momentary shudder, drawing his robe tighter around himself with the ease of a man who'd grown accustomed to a draft.

 They sat at the opposite ends of the sofa. To Frederick's surprise, the shy terrier didn't gravitate toward her rightful master, and instead remained at Frederick's side with her chin dropped to the top of his thigh. He scratched behind her ears, and she nuzzled against the pajama pants Will had loaned to him. It felt wholly surreal, and the unease of it all seemed to weigh heavier and heavier with each passing moment..

 "Did you sleep well?" Frederick asked finally, if only to prove to himself that he could still speak.

 "I suppose." Will's eyes didn't leave the television, though he appeared disaffected. It was not the response Frederick had hoped for - abrupt, short, and devoid of any type of detail. It frustrated him for reasons he couldn’t put his finger onto, and he floundered as though racking his brain trying to remember how to engage a resistant patient.

 The sound of the whipping winter winds howled outside, scraping almost bodily against the windowpanes, and in the confines of a living room that didn't belong to him and had suddenly gone cold, it fell deafeningly on Frederick's ears. At least he had the soft carding of the dog's fur between his fingers to ground him.

 Still, he did not dare to speak, and shifted in his seat.

 Mercifully, Will took the opportunity to do so first.

 "This doesn't happen to me anymore, if that's what you're thinking," he said finally, with no move to further specify what _this_ referred to - the dazed meandering into a snow-soaked field only to awaken, humbled and disoriented in one's own nightclothes.

 "I wasn't," Frederick said mildly.

 Will offered a dismissive noise that sounded dangerously close to a laugh - a sound that burrowed into him in a way that veered close to condescension. Frederick bristled inwardly to hear it. He said nothing, and busied himself only with scratching at the dog's velvety ears. The idea of Will washing his dogs in shifts to keep their shiny coats intact made him feel fond, and appreciative enough to marvel at the dedication it would undoubtedly require.

 Still, there was something crawling inwardly in a manner insistent enough to make him speak: "I don't - I don't mean to continue to bother you."

 Upon hearing Frederick's statement, Will seemed taken aback to consider the idea that he might offer to leave. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, though his tone remained curt, and Frederick felt his stomach twist in annoyance, mouth set in a firm line. Will's fingers knotted for a moment in the loose fabric around his thighs before releasing. Perhaps the tension was inward, almost as though Frederick weren't beside him at all.

 The din of the banal antiques show was the only sound in the room, save for the faint movements of the dogs as they milled around the house. Frederick cleared his throat after several long moments.

 "You have a strange way of showing that I'm not bothering you," he huffed finally, unsure where his anger had come from so abruptly.

 Will's eyes didn't leave the screen. "I apologize for not being entertaining," he said flatly, and it threw accelerant on the irritation that was only building with each passing moment. "You'll forgive me if I'm not particularly lively enough company for you."

 "Maybe it's a matter of poor hosting," Frederick snapped before he could help himself. Suddenly the living room seemed too small, with too few spaces to hide. He supposed it wasn't irrational of Will to find himself short-tempered upon being faced with the notion that any progress he'd made in becoming whole could be tenuous at best. Still, he found himself angry, and his fingers itched to tighten into a fist - a inward sensation that frightened him. .

 The statement made Will turn his head, regarding him with a cool expression. "I've upset you." It was a clearly unnecessary observation, one which provoked Frederick further, almost as though deliberate in its intention.

 "I don't know why you're being like this," Frederick blurted, exasperated. The dog on his lap laid her ears back, momentarily concerned with the burst of annoyance that escaped her current pillow, but she soon relaxed and licked at his ear. Will's look was blank. "If your intention is to make me angry, or even if you wish I weren't here right now - "

 He stopped in his tracks, seeing the way Will's eyes drifted closed as if in pain. Will then cleared his throat.

 "It isn't that," Will said, eyes still closed. The terrier rested her chin on Frederick's shoulder, still trying to climb all over him. He scratched at the soft space behind her ears, trying to ground himself with the sensation.

 "Well, what is it then?" Frederick asked, trying to keep his voice from coming as an annoyed snap. If he could muster up the smallest sliver of truthfulness with himself, Frederick quietly prepared to mourn the loss of the easiest friendship - if you could call it - to flat affect, to petulance, to something that would slip away and leave him worse than before.

 Nothing easy ever stayed. Call it fast fashion, complaining about a fifteen dollar sweater unraveling in its first wash, or a television dinner that burned around the edges with cheese that tasted like plastic. There was a reason one had to struggle and fight with things. The thought made Frederick feel hollow.

 "I guess it was nice to start living a quiet life," Will offered sheepishly, as though he found his own statement childish and unfortunate in that the idea was more than he deserved. "It will be a shame to have to account for this now," he mused, clearly in reference to the idea that he could never trust himself to wake up in his own bed again. His eyes were open now, his gaze at least in Frederick's direction, although pointed over Frederick's shoulder toward the front window.

 It was bigger, then - the idea that Will had composed himself, tried to box away all the hurts and messes that had swept him up and pulled him under for so very long. It was more than what his illness had taken from him, more than his trust and confidence being wrenched from him and perverted, more than being humbled and left high and dry on a college campus with only his shabby former captor to comfort him -

 it was not the fact that everything Will had thought he'd known had seemed to be false or temporary; it was the fact that Will had never had anything he could trust to cling to and that would cling back to him, not really. The thought of it was sudden terribly sad, sad enough to make Frederick deeply regret the beating he'd given Will the night before. Even worse was the recognition that Will would take any expression of regret as something akin to pity.

 "Don't be so hopeless," Frederick chided, trying to keep his voice light to betray the deep sadness that was churning inside of him. If Will could lose what he was cultivating to be his stable footing, there was certainly the chance Frederick's stability would be the next to follow him over the cliff.

 Will had always been so much stronger than people had given him credit for, and Frederick so much weaker than others would guess. Maybe the guts he'd had had only been physical, standard issue.

 The Antiques Roadshow marathon was drawing to a close, and the broadcaster announced an upcoming series on the barbaric history of psychiatry, completely with grainy, tawdry photographs of lobotomy instruments. Frederick sneaked a glance at Will, suddenly feeling caught in the crosshairs of some type of stodgy programming that called him onto the carpet.

 The glance didn't go unnoticed, and Will's stoic façade cracked, a smile finding his face. They both laughed, and Frederick again felt warmth coming back to his insides. The remote control sat on the cushion between the two of them, and Will reached for it, switching the television off.

 "I suppose it could be worse," he said with an uncharacteristic sense of diplomacy.

 "I never quite mastered that one," Frederick said, put at ease once again. The sound of Will's laugh, soft and restrained, but genuine, was pleasant to his ears, and a sound he wouldn't mind hearing any time it would be allowed.

 "Is this your way of telling me I ought to consider myself lucky?"

 Frederick rolled his eyes, scratching at the dog's lower back and watching the way her fuzzy hips swayed into the sensation. "You're lucky that the Hippocratic oath applies even when the patient is an obstinate source of irritation," he remarked, but there was no bite to it, and it only served to make Will chuckle again. Yes, he could certainly get used to this quiet intimacy, however bizarre in its context.

 There was a particularly loud gust of wind that rattled the storm door on it hinges, and it seemed to shake the terrier out of her comfortable sprawl, and she skittered off of Frederick's lap and away into another room, scratching the back of his hand with her claws in her haste to investigate. He offered a soft curse, though it was more out of surprise rather than pain.

 "Time to cut their nails soon," Will mused, taking Frederick's hand in his to examine the faint red scratches left behind, "but I think that you'll live." Will made no move to let go of his grasp, and Frederick felt an odd heat rise in his cheeks. "I'm sorry for the way I behaved." It still felt strange to hear Will apologize; maybe it always would.

 "I probably have more to apologize for than you do, even now," he said quietly, suddenly feeling small. There were so many things about himself that he'd tried to push down, to lock in a cupboard under the stairs, to dupe himself into the notion that he'd been given a fresh new slate the minute he'd stepped - hobbled - into his new office as the sticky heat of summer began to fade. If only it were that easy.

 "Ancient history," Will said dismissively, though it rang unfortunately, but expectedly, untrue to both of their ears. "Ancient _enough_ history," he corrected himself, though still sounding oddly forgiving for his time spent in a cage being marveled over like a performing circus animal. Frederick huffed out a laugh.

 The feel of Will''s thumb tracing a small circle around the lightly reddened marks where the dog had scratched him grounded him in its slight sting. Their eyes met.

 Frederick cleared his throat, though he spoke before he could stop himself. "I don't want to hurt you - not tonight." He supposed it was presumptuous of him to say it before Will had asked - perhaps the two of them would've retired to different bedrooms, never to speak of the slaps and spanks again. "It's just - it wouldn't be right," he settled on finally.

 If he was disappointed, Will's expression gave no indication, and he gave a simple nod.

 "You don't have to hurt me every time," Will offered as permission, and the thought that there would be multiple times, enough to have different rules and actions, made Frederick's mouth go dry out of eagerness. He was glad that the pleasant terrier had gone from them as Will slid halfway across the empty middle cushion of the couch, not daring to close the entire gap between them.

 It felt less daunting for Frederick to have to cross the rest of the cushion, and instead they met in the middle, now in each others' orbit but still hesitant. Frederick laid one hand on the outside of Will's thigh before letting it drift inward, feeling the heat of his skin radiating through the thin layer of long underwear. Will's eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened again, he still avoided eye contact.

 The sight made Frederick frustrated, and he used his free hand to lay gentle fingertips under Will's chin to lift his gaze.

 "Do you want to - " Frederick began, but Will nodded before he could finish the sentence. It occurred to Frederick that maybe Will didn't even know or worry over what he might be agreeing to - an indication of trust that Frederick was sure he didn't deserve so immediately.

 Maybe that had always been the problem with Will.

 Still, he took it as permission and fully closed the gap between them, finally, kissing Will softly on the mouth. His lips were chapped, wind burned from earlier in the morning, and Frederick wondered if they hurt in addition to the ragged bite mark on the inside of Will's mouth. Maybe Will always needed a reminder that the world could be cruel, and certainly had been to him.

 A sigh escaped Will, shaky against Frederick's mouth. He let one hand go to Frederick's waist, pulling him still closer. Their mouths slotted together, slow and patient, in no hurry here in the middle of the snow with nowhere to go. Will's tongue was slick, and shy at first, but he leaned in and allowed his mouth to go slack to allow Frederick in.

 He gave Frederick a gentle nudge, coaxing him down to his back on the cushions of the couch before settling on top of him. Will's hair was mussed, certainly not combed or styled after he'd flopped into bed after his shower earlier in the morning, and Frederick tangled his fingers in the curls at the back of his head. He tugged Will down, watching his back curve as he willingly came down to kiss Frederick again.

 Perhaps he was the one who ought to be considering himself lucky.

 Will steadied himself with one hand to Frederick's shoulder as he kissed him, breathing heavily as he leaned over Frederick in such a prone position. His other hand reached down, trying to drift under the hem of Frederick's thin t-shirt.

 The idea of the scar being traced, even by a gentle fingertip - or worse, exposed to the low light in the living room - made Frederick squirm, trying to shrink away from the exploration. "Please - not that," he asked abruptly, trying to keep the note of panic out of his voice. To his relief, Will was obedient, and immediately moved his hand back to Frederick's hip.

 He leaned back on his heels, though still steadying himself with one hand to Frederick's shoulder. "I - just, if you ever feel comfortable - " Will began uncertainly, but he didn't finish the rest of the sentence, and perhaps didn't need to. He closed his mouth with a barely-there clack of his teeth. Frederick made no move to speak or acknowledge, perhaps not needing to either.

 When he did speak, it was only to ask, "can I take you to bed?" Frederick marveled at his own request - it would mark a shift between hasty, desperate fumblings on sofas or the sinful heat of Will's mouth on his knees in the kitchen. They'd slept together in Will's bed, of course, but never done anything more intimate than lying together as they drifted off to sleep.

 Will didn't answer, but rolled easily off of the couch to rise to his feet. For a moment, Frederick questioned this as an answer, but got to his feet when Will turned in the direction of the bedroom. He didn't look over his shoulder, but he didn't need to. Frederick followed.

 There was a dog lying at the foot of the bed, a golden retriever who made a soft whine when the two of them entered the dim room, raising to its four legs in alarm.

 "It's all right," Will said kindly, rubbing the top of the dog's head before gently nudging him off of the bed. He turned to Frederick, almost apologetically. "He doesn't see well," he explained as the dog left. The consideration was a level of kindness that made affection for the man stretching out on his back in the center of the bed bloom inside Frederick's chest.

 The room was light despite the fading sunlight of the early evening, and Frederick was taken aback to realize just how much time they'd both spent asleep today. It was likely overdue. There was no need for sun, though, the reflection of any light bounding off the snow filling the room as an almost overcast daylight.

 Will was already laid out on the bed, the comforter kicked back down around its foot. Frederick came to kneel on the bed, drifting his own fingers up Will's sidebody and enjoying the way Will squirmed before relaxing into his touch. Will seemed to grow impatient with the gentle stroking, and struggled with his t-shirt, finally wrestling it above his shoulders and off entirely. Frederick smiled and brushed the pad of his thumb up Will's sternum.

 He could already see the shape of Will's cock through the long underwear, nothing between that fabric and Will's bare skin. Frederick now trailed his fingers over the hardening bulge, making Will offer a soft, rattling breath. He took the opportunity to arrange himself on top of Will's body, coaxing Will's arms above his head and using his strength to pin his wrists to the mattress.

 "I won't hurt you," he promised. Maybe it was something Will needed to hear.

 "Yeah," Will agreed, softly exhaling and arching his hips upward. "You don't need to. Not tonight."

 As Will writhed beneath him, Frederick realized he was already hard himself, perhaps just from the promise of having Will here below. There was a draft that seemed to course through the house, but it went unnoticed here with the heat building between them. He could feel the hot shape of Will through his thermal underwear and the flannel pajama pants Will had loaned him, and he worried Will's lower lip with his teeth on the opposite side of the cut.

 "Will you take them off for me?" Will asked, arching his hips again as an explanation of his request.

 Frederick released his grip, sliding his hands down Will's body to hook in the waistband of his pants. He assumed Will had been teased enough, and drew the pants down without pretense. He sealed his mouth over Will's, swallowing the breathy noise Will made to feel the soft rasp of flannel against his tender skin when Frederick returned on top of him.

 The thrill of having Will sprawled underneath him, fully naked and effectively trapped, made Frederick feel hot all over, like his skin was at risk of being burned off from him, even through the layer of his own full set of clothes. Will sighed happily, letting his hands rest on Frederick's lower back with each of his fingertips laid together.

 They studied each other for a moment, making no effort to push yet.

 "How did we get here?" Frederick asked, puzzling over it for the hundredth time. It was the sort of thing that might never make any sort of sense. He thumbed Will's bottom lip, feeling it purse against its pad with a fleeting hint of tongue pushing out and against the skin. "I don't understand."

 Will's fingertips dipped below the waistband of Frederick's pajama pants, tender and seeking the warmth of the clothed skin below. He turned his head, rubbing his cheek against Frederick's palm. "It's ridiculous, if you think about it," he agreed.

 "Very encouraging," Frederick huffed, though he made no effort to move except to cup the curve of Will's face. "Maybe it's best if we don't think about it right now, then."

 "Good insight, Professor," Will said, voice low.

 Frederick rolled his eyes at the title, and the way that a smile seemed to rise to Will's eyes indicated to him that the use of it had had achieved its desired effect. "You watch too much porn," he chided, not knowing if there was any basis for the accusation. His thumb was back to trace the swell of Will's lip, savoring the way that Will took the opportunity to fully lick at the pad of it in a hot circle.

 "There doesn't seem to be too much of a market for two shabby professors sleeping with each other in the porn world."

 "Pity that. Maybe in the crime blog world, then."

 Will groaned, perhaps due to the remark, or maybe it was the way that Frederick shifted on top of him legs splaying on either side of Will's hips to rub their cocks together even through the rapidly-annoying layer of the pajama pants. "Don't bring _her_ up - not now," he complained, though it was good natured at least. Frederick knew there was some truth to the request, some part in both of them that took comfort in the fact that maybe there were things in the world that could still be salvaged from a lifetime ago, another world.

 With that in mind, Frederick bent at the waist, kissing Will gently in apology, though it likely wasn't entirely necessary. He carded his fingers through the disheveled curls, knowing it would bring Will enough peace to let his eyes drift closed. He could show Will enough mercy not to push him for the eye contact he so desperately avoided whenever possible. Will sighed against his mouth.

 "We don't have to - " Frederick began, suddenly not wanting to sully the warmth between them, to bring it to a halt with force, too much of it.

 "I want to." Will pulled him back down, kissing with only a hint of pressure, frustratingly so, there but not enough, not whatsoever. He nipped at Frederick's lip, pulling him in closer with the hands now laced together at his lower back to kiss him harder. "Besides, I seem to have less of the advantage here." He arched his hips up as though to emphasize his nakedness.

 It stopped Frederick in his tracks, made his nerves flutter uncomfortably as though there was only one course of action facing him now. Will did take this as his opportunity to make their eyes meet, soothingly rubbing one thumb against Frederick's back.

There was something about the day that seemed to have stripped things from both of them, beginning with finding Will in the meadow, brought metaphorically to his knees by the clinging tendrils of the past. It hardly seemed fair, when Frederick remembered the dusting of snowflakes in Will's hair as he awakened. It had been beautiful, in the way that things which hurt often seemed to be.

Despite his own best interest - as evidenced by the heat that suddenly came to the tops of his ears - his fingers toyed with the hem of his own shirt, beginning to sweat. " _Please_ , don't touch it," he nearly begged, thankful that their eyes were locked and hoping it would be enough to drive his point home without having to get specific.

Even making the request frightened him.

"Of course not," Will told him, blessedly not taking the opportunity to tease him, and maybe it would be comfortable to bare himself to another person for the first time if the person already knew what had been gouged into his belly and allowed him to be taken from, made lesser.

With the assent, Frederick leaned down and fastened their mouths together, kissing Will hotly but without insistence. He didn't pull away, even as he began the work of pulling the shirt over his head. Only when it was time for the shirt to leave him entirely did he break away.

The room was light enough from the fallen snow outside for him to see Will's face, even in the dim, and he knew that in that case it was light enough for Will to see the ugly - even in the neatness of its precision - line of the scar. He could feel his own erection wilting with the shame of it, even as he rested back on his heels, letting Will look, knowing there was nowhere to hide here with his torso bared.

 For a few quiet moments, he was left to sit with his own humiliation under Will's gaze.

 "It isn't so bad," Will said finally, and Frederick wondered if it was the type of thing people offered as a platitude to make someone else not feel guilty to expose something so horrible to the light, to make another person see it and try to be polite about the way it might make his or her stomach churn.

 He took a few breaths, reassuring himself that Will was not easily polite, and not easily able to hide his disdain.

 The idea that Will Graham, of all people, would be the first person to see the scar without the heady smell of antiseptic or a few faint murmurs about how it had healed and how he ought to care for it when he finally discharged from the hospital was laughable, but somehow darkly fitting.  

 "Thank you," Frederick said, mouth dry, because there didn't seem to be anything to say that would fit.

 "There's really no sense in either of us hiding things like that," Will told him, and his voice sounded sad, reminding Frederick that his head was arguably somewhere else tonight - out there in the snow, barefoot and soaked in it. He felt the urge to bring Will back to the moment, and he leaned down, pressing their now-bared chests together for the first time along with their foreheads.

 "Not really," Frederick agreed, kissing Will again and hoping to put the issue to bed. Will's hands closed around his hips, perhaps more dangerously close to the ugly mark of Frederick's living dissection than he'd care for, but not enough to have to chase him away. Will groaned against his mouth, mercifully relinquishing his hold on Frederick's hips to push down the pajama pants.

 It was the first time he'd been fully exposed with Will, and he felt quietly terrified.

 To Frederick's relief, Will seemed similarly thrown off balance, his legs squirming beneath Frederick like that of a man being choked, but clearly with the aim of generating some friction. For his part, Frederick took pity and adjusted to pin Will's knees apart, thrusting his hips against him to rub the two of them together.

 Will's mouth went slack with the harder sensation, letting out a gust of breath.

 "What do you want to - " Frederick began, but the sentence was stolen from him as Will clutched at him, pushing up against him. Precome already glistened at the tip of him, even in the low light, and Frederick reached down, trailing his thumb through the pool at the head of Will's cock. Will hummed, low and contented in his throat.

 "I want you," Will said honestly, and for a moment Frederick wondered if it would end there, wondered what the implication behind it might hold, until he pushed his hips upward and adjusted the angle. Suddenly the implication didn't seem so muddied.

 Frederick continued to stroke him, quickening his pace and enjoying the uptake in Will's breath along with the motion. "How do you want me, Will?" he asked, fairly certain but hellbent on hearing it straight from him.

 "Inside."

 It was Frederick's turn to take in a sharp breath, and he imagined it had sent a matching pulse of precome from him.

 "Have you ever - " he began uncertainly, though he was cut off by a reedy moan of his own as Will reached between their bodies to pump his cock, and when he tried to regroup his mind, he found that the question somehow didn't matter for the moment. Will gently rolled Frederick's balls in his palm before returning to his long, languid strokes which seemed to present more composure than Frederick was capable of for the moment. He slumped against Will for a moment, resting his forehead in the curve of his shoulder.

 Will's hand faltered then, missing a beat or two as Frederick skated his teeth down the side of Will's neck. Frederick coaxed his arms up above his head, grinding down more insistently between the spread expanse of Will's legs.

 Their tongues mingled together, sloppy yet tender, and Frederick tightened his grasp on Will's wrists where they were drawn together above his head. He found himself selfishly wishing he'd leave behind bruises, but chased the idea from his mind. He'd promised not to hurt Will, and the last thing Will needed was a broken promise.

 "Do you have anything?" Frederick asked, marveling over the flush that had spread across the top of his chest. Asking the question made a delighted, nervous shudder tear through him, his stomach heavy and hot with promise.

 "It's - it's in one of the drawers, but I don't have any - "

 The idea that Will hadn't prepared for him out of any kind of presumption felt endearing, though destabilizing as Frederick groped in the top drawer of the nightstand and only found a mostly-full bottle of lube and nothing in the way of protection.

 There was a hesitant exhale that Frederick was surprised to recognize as coming from himself.

 "I'm clean, I promise, it's been so long since I've been with anyone - I don't even - " Will's mouth was running away from him all of a sudden, and Frederick returned back on top of him. He hadn't moved his arms back down to his sides, and Frederick traced gentle circles to the undersides of Will's wrists.

 Frederick brushed their lips together. "It's been longer for me than I'd care to admit," he agreed quietly. " - not since the last time I got tested." The last time had come sometime in his myriad hospitalizations and follow up visits with specialists. He'd blushed to ask of it at the time, even if now he couldn't recall the specifics. He wondered for a moment if there was anything behind this that might lend itself to thinking about the future, but he found himself stuffing it away and down to where he could consider it no more for the time being.

 "Please," Will asked, quiet and no longer in a rush, and Frederick was pleased with himself for having the presence of mind to bring the lube back to lie beside them.

 Crawling off of Will's lap and settling between his splayed thighs, Frederick rubbed broad, soothing circles on their insides. He could see Will's legs trembling, and wondered if Will was nervous, but his own mouth had dried too much to ask. He leaned back, watching Will shake, and took Will's hand and guided it down to his cock.

 "I want you to touch yourself while I work you open," he instructed, low and hoarse, and offered a smile of satisfaction as Will obeyed, tentative but hoping to be good. "We can both make you feel good at the same time."

 "Oh, _God_ ," Will groaned, head tipping back at the promise.

 The sound of the lube opening seemed to egg him on further, and Will let out a shaky sigh as he sped up his strokes in anticipation. His teeth were already toying with his bottom lip, and Frederick detoured to trace his lip with his index finger.

 "Don't do that," Frederick urged, but there was no bite to it. "You're going to hurt yourself." Will complied, releasing the inside of his lip with a shaky sigh, eager to be good. "You've hurt enough today, Will." Will scoffed, but Frederick shushed him, wishing for once that Will wouldn't want to argue with him.

 Frederick emptied a generous pour of lube onto his fingers, overzealous to the point that it dribbled down into the lines of his palm. He sighed at the mess but made no move to correct it. He didn't ask if Will was ready, didn't need to based on the way that Will struggled to hitch his legs up, exposing himself.

 He traced two wet fingers down the crevice of Will's ass, bumping lightly over his hole. Will took in a deep, sucking breath, trying to get some air where he'd forgotten to fill his lungs. Frederick smiled at the sound, anticipating bringing as many from him as Will would allow. His own cock throbbed almost painfully between his legs.

 Rather than to tease Will, Frederick pressed the tips of two generously slicked fingers inside of him. "Is this all right?" he asked uncertainly, and Will bobbed his head almost frantically, hand still jerking himself off roughly. "Slow down, Will," he chided, wanting to catch up himself.

 "Sorry," Will gritted out, but he could speak no further when Frederick pushed his fingers further inside, halfway so that Will could try to get accustomed to the stretch. Will's head dropped backward, hazily focusing on the ceiling. His chest was mottled with color and heaving, and Frederick pressed a kiss to the cap of his right knee.

 Will soon grew impatient, squirming backwards to try to get Frederick's fingers deeper inside of him, though he whimpered in discomfort when he got too overzealous in the stretch. Another dribble of precome slickened the head of his cock, and he spread it around hastily. It made Frederick's mouth water.

 "You're going to be so fucking tight," Frederick blurted, scissoring his fingers apart with a deftness that both pleased and surprised him. "I'm going to have to go slow, stretch you open." Will moaned helplessly in agreement as Frederick crooked his fingers, searching. He steadied himself with his free hand on Will's belly, leaning back to watch his face for a reaction.

 "Do it, please, do it," Will said breathlessly, and it would've made Frederick chide him for begging when he didn't need to if the sound of it weren't so heady and exciting. Frederick's fingers were now buried inside of him, stroking deep. "You're close to - " Will began, but was cut off when Frederick's fingertips found the secret bump deep inside of him, and instead a ragged cry escaped him, a smutty punctuation mark that made Frederick's heart hammer in his chest as he wondered what other noises he could coax from Will for the first time.

 "That's right," Frederick soothed, rubbing more assuredly against Will's prostate now that he'd done the hard part in finding it. He rubbed over it and then in patient circles, and Will cried out wordlessly. A shade of shame seemed to come to his face, and he blindly groped to clutch at the long-rumpled sheets as he tried to seal his lips closed without worrying them between his teeth.

 The sight of Will fighting to be _good_ through his own pleasure made Frederick's breath even more difficult to catch, and he pulled Will in close by his hair, allowing himself to relish the sound of Will's hiss. "Are you going to let yourself be loud when I push inside of you?" Hearing himself ask such a question made him blush, and he would've questioned his own judgment if it didn't wrench another frantic nod from Will.

 "Yes," Will agreed, thrusting his hips backward to draw out another slow moan as Frederick's fingers rubbed insistently inside of him. "Jesus _Christ_ , yes."

 He continued to scissor his fingers, alternating between the stretching movement and the soothing path of their tips around Will's prostate, marveling at his own self-control even as his cock rubbed uselessly against the bedsheets in a search for friction. He briefly considered making Will beg, but the idea of asking for even more from Will made him feel guilty, even more so because he knew Will would comply enthusiastically without question.

 "Are you ready?" he asked not yet removing his fingers. "Ready for me?"

 Will nodded soundlessly, not confident in his own voice for the moment. Frederick leaned away, leaving his fingers burrowed deep even if it meant having to be clumsy with stroking lube onto his cock with his non-dominant hand. He imagined it was dripping all over the sheets, unintended but inevitable with the loss of finesse.

 It took him a moment, longer even since he took the moment to stroke himself, allowing a few moments of selfishness in his strokes to make up for what he'd been deprived of while getting Will ready to take him.

 "It might be easier if you're on your front," Frederick said breathlessly, the enormity of what he was preparing to do sinking in when he heard himself giving the instruction. Will made a soft noise of agreement, one tinged with loss as Frederick slid his fingers free. The lube trailed messily down his flank, smeared further as Will turned over onto his belly. He allowed himself to be directed slightly upward to his knees, though still bowed forward. He laid one cheek on the pillow, turning his head to the side and awaiting instruction.

 Frederick took a shaky breath and ran his hands reassuringly over each cheek of Will's ass as though trying to put both of them at ease. He'd certainly never done this with a man before, although he'd had women this way before, remembered how tight it felt - an impossible, tenuous heat that it took work to be allowed into.

 He leaned down and brushed a light pass of his lips against the small of Will's back, taking another breath before pressing his dry lips to it.

 Tension seemed to be in every fiber of Will's body, and Frederick traced down the notches of his spine with one hand, steadying him at the hip with the other. "Relax, but tell me if it hurts," he warned, bearing up onto his knees and poising himself to enter. Will seemed to be fighting with himself to relax, tensing involuntarily before letting the muscles down his back loosen when he felt the blunt press of Frederick at his entrance.

 Before he could second guess himself, Frederick pushed in slowly, almost agonizingly slow for both of them, and he heard Will let out a choking, punched-out sound from deep down inside. Will was impossibly tight, so much so that the part of his mind that wasn't saturated in pleasure made Frederick wonder if it was cruel to fight his way inside of him.

 "All right?" Frederick gritted out, impressed with his own control to speak.

 "Yes," Will managed, at the verge of stammering but taking a shuddering breath to steady himself. "Keep going." He widened his knees and arched himself up further.

 Emboldened, Frederick pressed further inside of him, marveling over the way that Will whined in his throat but pressed back to meet him, hard and insistent until Frederick found himself buried in one sure stroke between the two of them. He wondered if Will was punishing himself, somehow seeking some type of perverse penance, and he worried still if he ought to hate himself for taking pleasure from it.

 He allowed both of them a few moments to adjust, bowed now over Will's back and mouthing nonsensically at his shoulder blade. It felt a little like suffocation, the loss of air that came with nothing to rob him of it but the sight of his own guts being unraveled from his body. The memory faded as soon as Will moaned, trying to shimmy backward.

 "You can move," Will gasped, uncharacteristically insistent here, face down in his sheets and gasping like a fish he might've thoughtlessly abandoned on the riverbed before he became master of that domain. "Please," he added, hoping to be indulged.

 Frederick drew back before giving an experimental push back in, one which Will hastened by greedily shoving his hips back to meet the movement inside. It felt wildly paradoxical to find himself _inside_ of someone he'd spend months trying to fathom, back in their past lives - to be swallowed up by Will Graham, to be given him entirely. He let out a bitten groan where his face was now mashed carelessly between Will's shoulders. He gave another thrust, harder now that he had seen the way Will would insist upon it.

 If Will objected to the treatment, he gave no indication of wanting it to stop, only to press his forehead against the pillow now to exhale a few hot breaths down to the plaid flannel pillowcase, one which Frederick knew to be impossibly soft. He hoped it wasn't done out of some need within Will to comfort himself in the sensation against something he didn't like.

 "Does that feel good?" he asked uncertainly, though unable to restrain himself from pulling back and thrusting back in.

 Will moaned openly against the pillow as his face crashed into it. "Fuck, yes," he gasped, scrabbling to knot his fingers in the pillowcase beside his face. "Feels good - don't stop."

  _Thank god_ , Frederick thought, nearly laughing at himself when he registered the breathless selfishness of his inner monologue. He gave a series of deep thrusts, swallowing a stubborn lump in his throat that prevented him from crying out as loudly as Will was. He could feel Will's thighs trembling still where they splayed on either side of his own.

 He tangled his fingers in Will's hair again, maneuvering his head to the side so he could rear up, kissing him hard on the mouth as he draped himself over Will's back. A thin sheen of sweat immediately began to form between their bodies. Will whimpered at the shift in position, allowing himself to be kissed and returning it zealously.

 "You feel good," Frederick forced out, the almost unbearable tightness of Will's willing body seeming to tense up all of him. The sensation was so strong, feeling it hot and electric down into each pad of his toes as he thrust in again. He wondered if he'd feel shame when this was over, knowing it certainly wouldn't last long - it had been so long since he'd been inside of another person who _wanted_ him in the way Will did, arching up against him and crying out now against his mouth.

 It would be unfair to expect a coherent response, and he settled for the almost-sobs Will offered and the way that he twisted his fingers into Frederick's grasp as his hand came to cover his on the pillow.

 "I don't - I don't know if I can - " Will finally managed to gasp, pulling away only far enough to speak before searching desperately for Frederick's mouth. Frederick wondered how Will managed to breathe here, seemingly knocked off balance and spiraling into pleasure with each incremental thrust. They were growing more shallow now.

 "I'm close," Frederick said hoarsely, hoping Will would agree with him, knowing that the incandescent heat that was pooling within him wouldn't hold out for much longer. "Your body feels so good." Will didn't speak, just tightened his grip on Frederick's fingers between his own. His hips were snapping now, unrelenting in the way he pushed into Will's body, knowing now that he'd be allowed.

 "I'm - " Will tried, but failed, and seemed to tense all over in surrender, spilling himself onto the hopelessly rumpled sheet below him, coming untouched.

 Frederick was not far behind, steadying himself only enough to give a series of hard, shallow thrusts, savoring the way that the tension Will carried for a moment tightened around him. He gave a helpless sound as he pushed in deep, coming inside of Will without any hope of stopping himself at the last moment.

 For a moment they lay there in a tangled heap of limbs. Frederick shivered to feel sweat cooling on his back, though gone boneless and having difficulty managing any movement in his extremities. He sighed against Will's neck, trying to regroup before pulling away. Will whimpered at the loss before rolling over onto his back as Frederick flopped down on his own beside him.

 "That was - " Will murmured, eyes blinking dazedly at the ceiling, but he remained silent, and Frederick inwardly cursed himself for feeling frantic in wishing Will might say something, _anything_ , to let him know things were all right. He absently brought his own hand down to his belly, hating to feel the scar beneath his fingertips but even more unhappy to let it sit open to the air and the eyes.

 "I'm sorry," Frederick blurted before he could stop himself, immediately and unbearably self-conscious.

 Will rolled over onto his side after a long moment of catching his breath. There was an uncharacteristic look of ease on his face, one that Frederick wouldn't have thought possible earlier in the day, or even when he'd awakened to find Will settled and sullen on the sofa beside him. He kissed Frederick lightly on the mouth, chaste despite what they'd both just shared.

 Maybe it was that Will seemed starved, needy for someone to touch him, to look at him with something beyond a curiosity rooted in morbidity. Frederick felt a fleeting ache inside of him, wanting to give him something that he secretly doubted himself capable of him.

 "It was great," Will told him, again shy to meet his eyes. Frederick took a deep breath, sprawling back onto his back with the hand still draped over his belly.

 For a moment, Will studied his face instead of laying back down onto his back.

 "What?" Frederick asked, immediately bristling.

 Will shook his head, a small and bitten laugh escaping him with no shyness associated with it.

 "Can I just, please - " Will's voice was tentative, suddenly seeming reserved. Frederick regarded him with a skeptical look, feeling small and exposed in the bed beside Will. It felt foolish to feel this way despite his own actions during the night, still seeing the plaintive expression across Will's face in the low light of the room.

 It took a moment before he registered Will's hand sliding down his chest, playing through the thatch of hair there and down toward his belly. Frederick felt a helpless shudder race through him, wondering if he ought to stop the slow creep of Will's fingertips moseying downward. It was Frederick's turn to take in a sharp breath, chest immediately tensing and wanting to fight - an instinct he hadn't had in a prior life and felt uncomfortable and shameful.

 "It's all right," Will mumbled, kissing lightly at the still-bared point of Frederick's collarbone, wandering up his throat and to his mouth just as the tips of his fingers found the top of the scar. Frederick let out a helpless gasp, feeling Will's fingers touch him in an area that only brought him horror now. "It's all right," he repeated, whispered against Frederick's mouth, gentle in a way that reminded Frederick of the way he'd approached the practically blind dog he'd had to chase from the bed. The parallel made him want to cry, and he wanted to kick himself for the instinct.

 Will's fingers traced the seam that had promised to hold him back together, kissing him with a baffling sweetness in the space between his collarbones. Life felt overwhelmingly surreal.

 "It's not that bad," Will told him, still not daring to meet his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and for your kind feedback!  
> The title of this chapter is from Kurt Vile - One Trick Ponies.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything Hannibal related and I'm hoping to make this an ongoing series; I really enjoy these two together and I wanted to toy around with the idea of them having the opportunity to have not-quite-as-terrible of lives as they ended up with in canon. Perhaps a sleepy little college campus might be just what the doctor ordered, as it were.  
> The title of this story is from the Pavement song, AT&T. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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